


"Bigger"

by SlutWriter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accomplice Play, Dirty Talk, Excessive Semen, F/M, Femmeboi, Huge balls, Incest, Lolicon, M/M, Multi, Prostate Wrecking, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Shotacon, Stray Pubes, Supernatural - Freeform, Thick Cum, Threesome, cock growth, dad/son - Freeform, daddy/daughter, huge cock, throatfuck, trap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlutWriter/pseuds/SlutWriter
Summary: After fatally hitting a teenage boy with his sports car, 42-year-old financial planner Mark Ottman is cursed by the boy's great-grandmother, who puts her hand between his legs and hisses one fateful word.





	1. 4 1/2"

**4 1/2"**

Mark Ottman didn’t see the boy until it was too late.  
  
He (the boy) was walking diagonally across the intersection with headphones over his ears and an enormous Big Gulp drink container in one hand. He also did not see Mark coming - he hadn’t even turned his head until the very last second, when the front bumper of Mark Ottman’s 2018 Ferrari Portofino, freshly imported and still with that new car smell, struck his hip and sent him headfirst into the windshield.  
  
Mark, in the two-seater with his wife Linda, had been struggling to get used to the power and acceleration of the car. He had never owned one like it. A little gas and it tended to explode forward. His previous car of ten years, an Acura, had one-fourth the horsepower; he’d learned to heavy-foot it just to get it going. He and Linda had been laughing about it. “Careful,” she had said, “you’ll lose your license if you keep gunning it like that!”  
  
Mark had laughed. “Lin, I’m not trying to! This car is just so powerful!” Owning a fine Italian sports car was new to him. After spending fifteen years in the financial sector he’d finally been given a chance by his firm, Excalibur Asset Management, to create his own hedge fund… and he’d done very well. The fund’s performance had earned EAM a lot of first-out money and himself a 1.9 million dollar bonus. He’d bought the car from his earnings, broaching the subject cautiously at first and then moving forward with the purchase with Linda’s blessing.  _Go ahead and treat yourself, Mark_ , she’d said.  _You’ve earned it._  
  
And yes, they made jokes about the reason for the purchase. Linda had raised an eyebrow and asked him if he was compensating for something by buying a Ferrari; they had shared a good chuckle over that, and he had given her his classic line: “It’s not the size, dear - it’s how you use it.”  
  
Mark had, he thought, used it pretty well. He’d just turned 42 years old; and after 18 years of marriage to Linda they had three children to show for it - Lucia, 17, Kevin, 16, and Katie, 8, who had come along as a surprise when they both figured they were done with such things. But the fact was, the “Irish curse”  _had_  hit him pretty hard… it was exactly the length you’d expect for the punchline to a Ferrari-buying joke.   
  
He was four and a half inches, tops. Good enough to pop out a kid or three but certainly nothing to stride around naked with in the locker room. Mark, who had played football in high school and still had the broad shoulders and thick belly from his days as a linebacker, had learned to live with it. Some guys were lucky and some weren’t. He was unlucky in that  _one particular area_ , he told himself. But beyond that, things were decent. No heart attacks, no cancer. (Linda had had a scare with a lump in her breast fives years back, but it turned out to be benign, thank god.) No illnesses for the children. In fact, in Mark’s opinion, he and his wife had best-looking kids you could ever wish for. This was another thing they joked about, with Linda angling to take the credit. She had been a cheerleader back in high school, and provided the basis for the blonde hair that both Lucia and Katie had. They took after their mother. Kevin didn’t really look like either of them - Mark had been husky at sixteen, and Kevin’s body type was much different - but he at least had Mark’s light brown hair.  
  
So sure, Mark Ottman would have liked to have a few extra inches of meat downstairs. Who wouldn’t? And sure, maybe the car was a way to turn money into something to show out - a replacement for those peacock, rooster, silverback gorilla struts that he’s never been able to make in the locker room.  
  
Whatever his intentions, it had turned into a nightmare. The kid had walked out from behind a parked delivery van and started across the street just as Mark had stepped down on the accelerator to zoom across. There was a screeching sound as he hit the brake, far too late. A crumple of metal as the kid was thrown over the hood and into the windshield. He had the hardtop down and the Big Gulp - blood red, it seemed - splashed all over him into the car. He was lucky it hadn’t been the kid’s brains.  _Those_  were splashed all over the spiderwebbing glass of the windshield.    
  
As it turned out, he  _did_  lose his license. The boy, who it turned out was eighteen, lost his life. His name, Mark soon found out, was Peterson Jean-Baptiste. He had stars tattooed on his neck; Mark saw these as he exited the car. Stars on his neck, cordless headphones, and a matching New York Yankees jacket and black velour track pants. He had been out in his new car for his first drive of the summer and he’d run over and killed a black kid in the street.  
  
There was both a criminal and civil filing that made the local news. Mark hired a lawyer named Teddy Krieg to represent him, he was a well-dressed, handsome type and promised that he could get off Mark out of the proceeding without any liability. Peterson Jean-Baptiste, Teddy said, had a reputation as a bit of a delinquent. His investigator said that Peterson’s daddy was into some shady shit with the Haitian mob, and his mother was no angel; she had a half-dozen solicitation citations on her jacket. Teddy further said that he had in on good authority that EMTs had found a baggie in Peterson’s jacket pocket when they opened it up to confirm that his heart was no longer beating and he couldn’t be saved.   
  
_Of course he couldn’t be saved_ , Mark had thought. _I could have told them that. His head was splattered all over my windshield, I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to sleep without seeing that when I shut my eyes._ Teddy at times seemed a little unethical, and he kept stealing glances at Linda’s breasts as he explained what their defense strategy would be. His perfect haircut and white teeth matched his expensive suit and trim, fit body. Normally this was the sort of guy that Mark didn’t like - a guy thinner, younger, and more confident than him. His hair was starting to recede a little, Teddy’s was full. He had 30-40 extra pounds on his burly frame, Teddy looked fit as a whipcord. But while Teddy was explaining just how he was going to keep Mark out of jail of negligent vehicular homicide, he couldn’t help but like the slimy bastard a little. Even if his glances at Linda’s breasts were becoming more frequent.  
  
“So this kid has a daddy in deep with the Haitians and he had a pocketful of the ganja,” Teddy said. “What jury is going to convict an upstanding guy like you? With what you add to this city’s tax base? A family man with no prior criminal record? Uh-uh. Not on my watch. You have the right income and the right skin tone to get out of this.” He offered his hand and Mark shook it, and left the meeting feeling confident. Teddy had been convincing enough in his portrayal of Jean-Baptiste as a gangbanger that Mark had started to believe it. Besides, the kid had been jaywalking, nowhere near the crosswalk.  
  
Then it came time for the criminal trial. Mark didn’t want his kids to be involved in any way - to his mind, they already knew too much from the papers. It was hard to keep the information away from Lucia and Kevin - they were old enough to read the news - but he tried his best to keep Katie out of it. One day, while in her gymnastics leotard and coming down from a prolonged handstand against the wall, she twirled a ribbon around her head and then came to a stop and stared at him pointedly as he sat in the living room. “The kids at school said you ran over a guy, daddy!” she said, her blue eyes wide. He was so struck by her innocence (and the cuteness of her ribbon-twirling practice and powder-blue leotard) that he could barely bring himself to engage on the topic.   
  
“A boy died in a car accident,” he tried to explain, and she shimmied up on his thigh to listen.  
  
“Accident, like, not on purpose?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, quickly. “Not on purpose. Daddy wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose.” It wasn’t the best explanation but it would have to do.  
  
Needless to say, he didn’t want any of his kids anywhere near the courtroom. It was far different for the Jean-Baptiste family. At every session, the gallery was full of glowering dark-skinned faces who seemed to glare deep into his soul. Peterson Jean-Baptiste seemed to have an endless number of aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and cousins. They carried signs that said “justice for Peterson”. And as Teddy Krieg went about his defense strategy of making Peterson look like the second coming of Bumpy Johnson, the angry stares only accumulated.   
  
The judge they drew, Faber, had considerable investments with EAM, Mark’s finance company. In fact, he had a hundred-thousand in the very fund that Mark managed, and the public prosecutor either didn’t have the resources to investigate any possible linkage or didn’t think of it. Faber never recused himself. (Mark also thought that the fact that Peterson’s family hadn’t hired a high-priced mob lawyer was convincing proof that he wasn’t connected - though wild horses couldn’t have dragged that admission out of him.)   
  
In the end, he was found not guilty of all charges. He did lose his license - and was banned from operating a motor vehicle for three years - but that was cold comfort to the red-eyed relatives of the boy who had died. Mark gave a tearful expression of regret when it came time for him to speak in his own defense, but after the race-baiting hatchet job that Teddy Krieg had performed, the faces of the opposite were unsympathetic and their hearts were turned to stone. Mark didn’t blame them, he supposed. But it  _had_  been an accident. He just wanted to put it behind him.  
  
The old woman touched him when he was walking down the courthouse steps.   
  
She had not been in the courtroom - he would have remembered her. She was ancient to the point of parody, her teeth rotten, one eye milky with cataracts. She wore a headdress and scarf, and approached with the help of a cane that appeared to be made of bleached bone. Her knuckles, scrawny beyond belief, just skin over bone, gripped it tightly. She smelled of mothballs and cigarettes and exotic perfume - a scent she’d probably been wearing her whole life, a scent that might have been enticing with the promise of a tryst about six decades before, but now just smelled old and cloying.   
  
Her hand went to his crotch and grabbed what was there. It was not much. Unerect, Mark’s penis was buried in a layer of pubic fat and hair, little more than a stub, and her palm pressed urgently against this through the hem of his brown trousers, putting pressure on his shaft and balls.   
  
At first, Mark was too stunned to respond. Being touched by her so suddenly and in such an intimate place was horrifying… but he also felt an unwilling excitement, as if some strange energy were being passed through her palm and into his penis. He felt the strange thrum down there, like the beginnings of an erection, and she leaned in, tucking her head near his neck and whispering up into his ear with tobacco-scented breath:  
  
“Bigger.”  
  
The whole thing took only one second. Teddy, who had been walking a few steps behind Mark (no doubt sharing a victory conversation with Linda; Teddy seemed to have an unnatural interest in Mark’s wife, which, now that the trial was over, was growing more and more annoying), moved to restrain the woman, and so did several police and security officers who were nearby. But she made no effort to touch him again, and simply stared pitilessly at him. Her one good eye was like a mad pit from which light could not escape.  
  
“You want to be a big man, huh?” she called to him, and her voice was so twisted with an accent and her own advanced age that he could barely understand. “Big man n’ big fast car. Well now you gonna be as big as you want, pig.” She bared her rotten teeth at him. “You never gonna need no fancy car again! You never gonna kill no boy again!”  
  
They escorted her away, and Mark swallowed as Linda ran a hand over his shoulder. “Come on,” she urged him. “Come on, Mark - let’s just go home.”  
  
“That old bitch, she-”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Linda said, and he turned his face to see hers. Tired. Worried. “Come on. Please.”  
  
He took Linda’s arm and made his way to the parking area. She would be the one driving. And though he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget the horrible feeling of being molested by that old Haitian crone, any more than he’d be able to forget about the image of Peterson Jean-Baptiste’s head cracking on his windshield… the joy of being free of the criminal charge eventually overwhelmed his negative mood.   
  
He didn’t think of the old woman again than night.


	2. 5 1/2"

The first time Mark Ottman noticed something was amiss, he was sitting at his kitchen table, eating breakfast. Linda was at cooking up some bacon and eggs on the stove; she’d gotten up early to do yoga and he found looking at her rear end as she moved around the kitchen was a lot more interesting than the newspaper. (Mark still got the local paper out of sheer habit; though the news always felt old even as he looked at it. Still, it was the best way to spot items related to his criminal trial. The key headline - LOCAL FINANCIER ACQUITTED OF VEHICULAR MANSLAUGHTER - had come just days before.  
  
He was in his brown pants and undershirt, his dress shirt unbuttoned as he shoveled eggs into his mouth and admired the roundness of Linda’s rear as she sprinkled salt and pepper into the pan, feeling a strange surge of pride. He had definitely scored over his head when he bagged Linda - she had been a cheerleader and he a football player, and back in the early 90’s that had brought them into contact enough times to kindle a relationship. Linda hadn’t been interested in a ‘jock’ mindset even if she liked football players, and Mark had assured her that he had interests outside of football, such as making money. Linda became a nurse first, and then eventually went back to school and became a chief assistant in obstetrics and gynecology. An old joke between them, which Mark often used as foreplay, was asking her if she wanted to see a penis as a change of pace after spending all day looking at vaginas. If she was in a good mood, it always drew a laugh, and if she was in a  _really_  good mood, sometimes it led to more.  
  
Looking at her round ass in yoga pants, Mark uncharacteristically found himself in the mood for more.   
  
It was unusual, because their sex life had really dried up during the trial. The stress of what happened hadn’t exactly been a real mood-maker, and Mark had been busy as well, both with business (he got emails daily about the status of the fund, considering his legal troubles, and had to work overtime to keep investors assured) and with Teddy Krieg, who had become something like an uncle to the Ottman family, dropping by the house to talk about the case. Mark was actually getting really tired of Teddy, with his $100 haircut and his $1,200 suits, dropping by to make smalltalk with his wife and kids, but he considered the handsome younger lawyer to be a necessary evil if he was to avoid prison time and taking a bath in civil court.  
  
But yes. Despite all that, Mark found himself with a bona fide, tried and true hardon. It wasn’t morning wood, either, but the desire to get up, walk over to his wife, cup her buttock, and take her in the back and give her a good screwing. He was contemplating when footsteps padded into the kitchen from the hall.  
  
“Morning!” said Lucia, and Mark didn’t reply to his daughter because he was wide-eyed at what she was wearing - a colorful long-sleeved tee with an enlarged neck that plunged off one shoulder, and a pair of black tights so skin-tight, they looked painted on.    
  
“What the heck are you wearing?” he blurted, and Lucia looked at him as if he was the most uncool dad in the history of the universe. She had sandy blonde hair, like Linda, but died it a lighter shade of pure beach bunny blonde, and her eye makeup made her blue irises dazzle. He looked at the black tights, which led down to solid black Nike running shoes. He could see every detail of his daughter’s figure. She had a round, bubble shaped rear that stuck out, and a thigh gap. More crucially, he could see the soft curve of her pussy through the tights. Not totally, of course, but the skin-tightness made it easy to imagine, providing all sorts of hints about the shape of her 17-year-old holiest of holies. Was it a trick of the light, or could he even detect the protruding nub of her  _clit_?  
  
“Give me a break, dad,” Lucia said, and her eye-rolling was pure, distilled teenager. “Tons of girls wear stuff like this. It’s no different than what I wear to the gym.” She turned and reached up to grab a glass out of the cupboard, her round ass bounced and jiggled gloriously, untouched by gravity in the way only a teenage girl’s rear could achieve. Mark felt his face redden. He wasn’t deluded enough to think Lucia was a virgin - she was very popular with guys, from what he could tell - but he didn’t like the idea that she was giving away the keys to the store and letting every swinging dick have a peek. When he was growing up, chicks had been into skirts and baggy sweaters.    
  
It didn’t help that he felt like he had the biggest hardon ever. The inappropriateness of this, in the face of his daughter’s swaying blonde hair, makeup, the glittering diamond stud in her nose, and the way the tights seemed to cling to the folds of her pudenda, was something he had to immediately rationalize.  _Just a normal biological reaction_ , he thought.  _Nothing to get worked up about. Fathers with teenage daughters deal with this sort of thing all the time._ Yet his hardon was so intense he feared it would become obvious in the crotch of his pants. Normally he would never worry about such things, being ‘modestly’ endowed, but this time his insistent penis seemed to be protruding further than usual, poking jauntily up against the layer of belly-flab that was the curse of most 42-year-old men.   
  
 _I must have gained some weight_ , Mark thought. He was not used to his cock pressing so hard upward in a sitting position. But that didn’t feel right to him. If anything, with the stress of the trial killing his appetite, he had lost weight. He surreptitiously snuck a hand down below the table like he was scratching an itch on the inside of his thigh, and pressed his palm against the spot where his cock poking. His eyes went wide. It felt…   
  
Bigger.  
  
Lucia had already tuned him out, ignoring him as teenage daughters are famous for, and Mark was glad for that, for he was blushing a little beneath his short brown hair and his eyes were wide with surprise. He watched as Lucia moved to the stove to scoop some eggs onto her plate and her hips touched against Linda’s, sending both of their asses - one in yoga pants, one in tights - jiggling. Two generations of round, toned bubble butts. Linda had a little more meat on her bones, and Lucia’s had a little less sag and a little more bubble-like roundness, but other than that they could have been sisters. Suddenly his cock felt like it was going to explode. He shook his head and laughed a little to himself at the absurdity.  
  
“Daddy!”   
  
Mark wheezed out a surprised breath. Katie, her blonde hair pulled back in pigtails and dressed in her gymnastics leotard, had picked that moment to slide up onto his lap and give him a hug. “Drive me to practice!” She was straddling his meaty thigh and the upper part of her left leg was pressing directly into his crotch. He could feel the warmth of her tiny body against him and the softness of her inner thighs. Katie had been gaga for gymnastics ever since she saw the Olympic games on television, and wore her leotard every day. When he and Linda saw her practicing tumbling in the house, they decided to get her some formal training before she, in her exuberance to imitate the girls on television, injured herself.   
  
“Your mother will take you,” Mark assured, but the logistics of getting Katie to practice weren’t the foremost thing on his mind. Rather, he was concerned with how his inconvenient, unwanted erection was pressing against his elementary-school-aged daughter’s knee! Every nerve ending on his skin seemed to be detecting details he didn’t want, including the spot between Katie’s legs that was pressing against his upper thigh! He could feel her pelvis bones and also the softer, more giving flesh of her… her…  
  
“Oww! There’s something hard in your pants, daddy!” Katie said, looking down. Mark coughed and looked up guiltily as both Linda and Lucia turned their heads.   
  
His mind was blaring like a warning klaxon.  _Caught! I’m caught! I’m caught!_  
  
But both Linda and Lucia broke into bemused laughter, holding their hands to their mouths. They weren’t taking it seriously. It was just something amusing, coming from an eight-year-old girl who didn’t know what she was saying. He forced his face into a smile and tried to laugh along, reaching down to pull something out of the pocket of his pants, something which had been squeezed up against Katie’s opposite thigh - his cellphone. He held it up sheepishly and Lucia and Linda laughed anew.  
  
“Oh my god,” Lucia giggled, shaking her head. “Someone needs to have a talk with her about saying stuff like that.”  
  
Linda waved her hand. “Let’s not spoil her innocence dear,” she added, and Mark placed his phone on the table. Katie spun around on his lap and started fiddling with it, the large touchscreen device seeming as big as tablet in her tiny hands. Mark’s heart, which had been beating fast, began to slow down. It was nothing -  _had been_  nothing. Katie eventually lost interest in the phone, slid down from his lap (he could not help but feel the softness of her small, round rear as it tensed and then pushed away from his knee in the final moments, and it did his raging erection no favors), and took up her own chair. Kevin walked in, rolling his bike, a protective helmet pulled over his shaggy light brown hair. He asked what was so funny and they all shared a chuckle again as they sat five to the table.  
  
Lucia asked who was going to pick her up after school and Linda mentioned that she was working late that day - Dr. Engel had four or five afternoon examinations. Mark, of course, was no longer allowed to drive.   
  
“Ted Krieg said he could do it,” Linda ventured, and Mark wrinkled his brow. His uncomfortable erection had made him agitated enough, but the news that his wife had been discussing pickups and drop-offs at school with their lawyer perturbed him anew.  
  
“When did you talk to Ted?” he asked, and Linda must have heard the combative note in her voice because she became gently defensive.  
  
“Yesterday. He came by to get some documents for the disclosure. You were at work.”  
  
“I told you I was going to handle all of that,” Mark said, crossly. The eyes of their children were moving back and forth between them at the table, sensing that a fight might be in the cards.  
  
“The files he needed were here,” Linda insisted. “I didn’t see the harm. And since you can’t drive, he mentioned he could pick up the kids if we needed help.” She paused. “It’s really no big deal. Ted just really cares about his clients. He’s… he’s a nice guy.”  
  
 _Let me tell you something about your pal Teddy_ , Mark thought, but did not say aloud.  _He just railroaded a 17-year-old black kid and painted him out to be a drug czar in order for us to win our criminal case. That’s what kind of nice guy Teddy Krieg is._  
  
“Are you two fighting?” Katie asked, cutely, her eyes wide with concern. “Don’t fight!” She pointed a finger at him accusatory, her wide, blue eyes seeming to take up 50% of her face.  
  
“No,” Mark said at once. “We’re just talking.” Suddenly his hardon felt like it was going to explode. He felt horny, pissed off, frustrated, and stifled, forced to hide not only his prick but his annoyance out of deference to family and decorum. Shoveling the last of some eggs into his mouth, he stood up brusquely. “I have to get ready for work,” he said.  
  
But he did not get ready for work - not immediately. He walked upstairs and, instead of going into the bedroom to button his shirt and tie his tie, he made his way to the master bathroom, unbuckled his belt, and freed his prick from the confines of his briefs. Making sure the door was securely shut, he reached down and took hold of his prick experimentally. It was diamond hard, and seemed more prominent than he could remember. Being as small as he was, in the infrequent times he jerked off, he tended to use a rather embarrassing tweezer-like method with a few fingers. But this time, he found that he could wrap his hand around his entire shaft  
  
“My god,” he said aloud. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to do that. If ever. It felt good… and he squinted his eyes and leaned over the toilet, bracing one hand on the tank, thinking about Linda’s big, round ass in those yoga pants. She was a great-looking chick even in her late 30’s, he was lucky to have her. He huffed and puffed a little as he handled himself, imagining doing things to her that, because of the doldrums of lengthy marriage, they hadn’t done in a while. He tried to limit his thoughts only to that.  
  
But his cock seemed to have a mind of its own. His fantasies wandered to his 17-year-old daughter’s perfectly round bubble butt in those tights, and the way he could see the soft curve of her pussy mound and maybe even the little divot where her outer labia came together, maybe even the protrusion of her clit. He hadn’t seen Lucia naked in years - the closest he came was on vacation beach trips. He wondered if she shaved her pussy. He admitted his daughter seemed like the type to make sure that mound was bald and tanned and succulent as a ripe peach. And Katie. Only eight years old but already aspiring to be a gymnast, walking around in that leotard every day, the lycra fabric clinging to her cute little-  
  
“F-fuck!” he moaned, and spurts of semen spewed out over his fingers and into the toilet bowl. Three, four spurts. He took a few gasping breaths, trying to calm down, wiped his hand on some toilet paper, and then looked up at himself in the shaving mirror that was nearby.   
  
 _God, what the fuck am I doing? What am I fantasizing about? This is wrong._  
  
He balled up the toilet paper, threw it into the bowl. Flushed. He was soon left with his flaccid cock and the soft whir of the fan. He tugged at his meat experimentally, pushing down on the cushion of pubic fat around it, pulling it, trying to verify what he sensed. It was somehow… bigger. He knew very well what the average size of a penis was, worldwide.  
  
Five and a half inches.  _That_  was the worldwide average.  
  
Mark Ottman had always been an inch below, a shortcoming made worse by the fact that he was a rather big guy - six foot two - and thirty pounds overweight as well. He had learned to live with it. But the penis he was looking at, instead of disappearing to a nub while flaccid, actually seemed to hang down a little. Even his balls seemed bigger and fuller. And when it had been hard… it had taken his whole palm to span the shaft. That meant…  
  
“What the hell is going on?” he breathed. But before he could ponder if more fully, he heard Linda coming up the stairs, pulled his pants up, and buckled his belt.


	3. 7"

For Mark, the evidence of change came gradually and in a dozen different ways. In the week after his tawdry morning masturbation session in the upstairs toilet, he occasionally realized that his penis was rubbing against the rise of his pants when he moved. Not only that, but his briefs felt tight and restrictive. This was something he normally associated with gaining weight; but this time the sensation was different, in that it didn’t come at the waist or the inner thighs but the crotch.   
  
It was a busy week - he had to prepare for his civil trial and also deal with the fund. Teddy Krieg was stopping by the house often to talk about trial prep, which annoyed Mark to no end. He was glad to be free of the criminal charge related to the accident, but he still felt  _dirty_  about what had happened… and with his cutthroat methods, Teddy made that feeling worse.   
  
On Friday, there was another nasty surprise, as Mark lifted the shades on the window of his corner office and looked out across the street to see dozens of flower buoquets laid side-by-side on the curb across the street, surrounded exotic looking street art, with the message “Remember Him” scrawled in thick, somehow accusatory letters.  This was a tribute obviously placed for Peterson Jean-Baptiste, who had become something of a cause among the disenfranchised of the city… but considering that the accident had happened nowhere near his office, Mark thought the location of this particular shrine was a message to  _him_ , a protest of sorts. “Remember Him” was not a general message of mourning but a  _direct order to Mark Ottman_.   
  
 _Remember him. You killed him. You were screwing around in your new big-dick car with all of your big-dick money and not paying attention, and you killed him. And the scumbag lawyer you hired with your big-dick money used every trick in the world to make sure you took no blame. And the scumbag judge who didn’t recuse himself even though your hedge fund’s performance would affect his investment, he let it happen._  
  
He found it very difficult to concentrate on work that day.  
  
During a strategy meeting that seemed endless, he watched as a female co-worker updated the senior managers on the status of various funds, and found his mind wandering, thinking about what the blonde-haired junior staffer would look like thrown over a desk, her sensible skirt pulled up to reveal what he imagined would be a pair of garters. She was blonde - similar in hair color to his wife, in fact - but younger. His erection became extremely uncomfortable. Mark was normally someone who would stand and gesticulate in meetings, but this day he remained glued to his seat. He could tell that his dick was poking into the front of his trousers, much more urgently than it ever had before. His mind wandered back to that morning at breakfast when Linda and Lucia had been side by side at the stove, their two asses bouncing against each other.  
  
When the meeting was done, he waited until everyone else had left the room to get up, holding a prospectus in front of his raging boner as he walked back to his office. He didn’t quite know how to interpret what he was seeing and feeling - his cock was pressing into the front of his pants like never before, and his briefs felt unbearably tight. These were things he associated with gaining weight, but the tightness wasn’t around his waist and he didn’t feel any fatter.   
  
Mark sat at his desk and put his head in his hands until the hardon went away. It took a while, as his mind kept wandering to the female co-worker, then to Linda, and then to places even less savory. But after fifteen minutes, he had settled down enough to make his way to the men’s bathroom. It was empty. He didn’t really need to urinate but he wanted to see what he suspected. He unzipped his fly and stood in front of the urinal… and then used four fingers to pull his shaft out to begin the act of evacuation.  
  
This was new. Previously his cock had just been a short stub, mostly obscured by pubic fat, and the tip barely emerged from his fly when he had to piss. Now, he marveled at the fact that he had an actual  _shaft_ that could  _dangle_  out of his unzipped fly.  
  
“What the hell?” he said aloud, and wiggled it experimentally from side to side. It still looked like him - the various folds and discolored areas of skin were the same - but they were stretched out, somehow. Larger. The whole works had to be at least four inches long, enough to shake around and waggle so that it banged against one side of his pants and then the other. For a moment he was mesmerized at how his body had taken on this entire new functionality. He had enough shaft to bend it and piss straight sideways if that’s what he intended.  
  
The door to the men’s room banged open and a hotshot with an expensive haircut came in - Bryce Carstairs. He was younger and more confident than Mark, and managed the only fund in the company that had outperformed Mark’s. He dressed and comported himself exactly as you’d expect from a younger, hotshot fund manager. With overbearing slickness.   
  
“Hey Ottman, how’s it hangin’?” asked Bryce, moving to the sinks opposite the urinals to wash his hands and examine his hundred-dollar haircut. His vanity instantly reminded Mark of Teddy Krieg, who was older but just as much of a preening huckster. “You’re killing it this fiscal. Heard you got a pretty bonus last quarter.”   
  
Mark made a non-commital noise and watched as Bryce dried his hands and then walked over to the urinal, keeping the proper etiquette of leaving one empty urinal in between the two of them. Mark stared straight ahead at the wall. He had always been nervous when standing at urinals, with his lack of size. He knew this was absurd, and told himself it didn’t matter, but the old locker-room instincts of being ashamed were still present, no matter what. This time, though, he felt a strange surge of excitement.   
  
 _You asked me how’s it hangin’, Bryce old buddy. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s hangin’ pretty well at the moment. In fact, it’s never been hangin’ better. Probably because it’s actually hangin’ now. Before it was sorta just hidin’. So yeah, I probably have a tumor or cancer or something and it’s causing my dick to well up like a just-cooked sausage, but for the moment, it’s hangin’ pretty good. And let’s not forget that this happened after an old Haitian woman grabbed my crank outside the courthouse._  
  
Mark stood next to Bryce without shame and unlimbered himself of a piss that was extremely satisfying, not just for the minor relief of his not-very-full bladder, but because he finally had nothing to fear. Bryce could pecker-check all he wanted, and he would find Mark Ottman at an average size and girth, thank you very much. Mark felt less like a thief, creeping into the urinal to do his business by cover of darkness, and more like an alpha wolf, marking his territory. It was absurd, he realized, but it was also true. He really did feel better, less self-conscious, and more confident. It was amazing the difference an extra inch or two could make. And he really  _did_  have an extra inch or two, he realized. It wasn’t some optical illusion. Hell, even his balls felt a little bigger as they lay in the hammock of his briefs.  
  
 _This is the craziest thing that ever happened to me_ , he marveled, thinking that up until this development, the gruesome car accident of months past would have taken that title. He would have to see a doctor - that much was certain. He had seen pictures on the internet - linked as jokes or gross-out pranks - of men in third-world countries whose penises had swollen up to elephantine sizes, as a result of tumor or parasites. He didn’t see anything strange about his cock - it wasn’t discolored or uneven or lumpy - but that didn’t mean nothing was wrong. A doctor visit was the  _safe_  thing to do.  
  
Bryce finished up, zipped up, and washed his hands again before exiting out the door, and Mark barely noticed. He was thinking about that woman, with her skin so dark it was almost black, her teeth yellowed, her breath stinking of nicotine, putting her hand on his dick and whispering that word:  _“Bigger”_. Nonsense, of course. But yet he couldn’t shake the connection.  
  
He decided to leave the office early that day.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When Mark got home, Linda was tending to the flower garden in the rear of the house, wearing a mustard-yellow tank top into which her breasts hung very nicely indeed, and a large sun visor. Her sandy blonde hair was done up in a ponytail. He asked her if she could come inside for a minute. At first she ignored him, but when he called again, she took off her gloves and walked into the kitchen. Mark then beckoned his wife upstairs.  
  
“Mark, really,” she cautioned, “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for-”  
  
“Just come,” he urged, and the look on his face must have convinced her, because she did. They walked up to the master bedroom, and once inside and with the door securely closed, Mark turned to face her and reached for his belt loop. Linda response was one of disapproval - he had acted like it was some other matter, but had decided to initiate sex after all, a dirty bait and switch, in her mind - and her face took on a look of disapproval.  
  
“You came home from the office just to-”  
  
“No,” Mark interrupted, calmly, and dropped his trousers. “I want you to take a look at something.”  
  
“Yeah, I bet you do,” she teased, with a mixture of weariness and bemusement.  But Mark waved her off.  
  
“Just look at it, alright?” Mark urged, his voice rising and getting a bit testy. He hadn’t expected Linda to just fall into his arms, but he didn’t want to be made to feel like sex with him was a huge annoyance, either. “You know those PSA commericals that say you should check for testicular cancer and lumps and all that?”  
  
“You found a lump?” Linda asked, and for the first time her face had a more serious look.  
  
Mark stripped down his tighty whities and let them fall over his powerful thighs and down around his ankles, pooling there with his trousers. Then he simply put his hands on his hips and let it hang out. Linda’s eyes narrowed and then she took on a comical expression of confusion, blinking twice in exaggerated fashion.  
  
“Mark! It-”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“It’s…”  
  
“Bigger.”  
  
She stepped forward and then got down on her knees in front of him. He could see the topside of a thong rising above the waist of her yoga pants. She had not worn a thong in a while - panty lines weren’t a huge concern when all you were doing was gardening. Why? Was she trying to look her best for someone? Teddy Krieg perhaps? Good old uncle Teddy, who apparently saw fit to give Mark’s kids a ride home from school and drop by to chat up his thong-wearing wife? He felt blood start to surge into his cock as she touched it, in spite of his annoyance.  
  
Linda’s blue eyes were wide and her face was just inches from his hanging penis. “Mark… what did you do?” she asked. “It’s definitely bigger!”  
  
“I don’t know,” he said, truthfully.  
  
“Did you use a pump on it, or something?” There was an astonishment in her eyes, and something else - a look that said “shit, I’m impressed!”. It was this second look that both aroused and annoyed Mark. She was looking at his cock like she never had before… as if the cock she’d been married to for years prior to this point, had been chopped liver.   
  
“No I didn’t use a pump on it!” he said, and the tension returned to his voice. “It’s been like this for… I don’t know. A week. It feels like my underwear are tight. At first I thought I had just gained weight, but-”  
  
“Oh you gained  _something_ , all right,” Linda marveled, and she gave his shaft an experimental tug. Mark bit his lip with pleasure. For the first time, she could wrap her small hand all the way around his shaft, and fit all four finger and her thumb on it, with the head poking out the top. She put her other hand to his scrotum and started knead it gently. “Even these feel bigger. Not like… they have a tumor or something. But bigger.”  
  
“Really?” the idea of his balls being bigger had not really occurred to him.   
  
“Really. Before they were… I mean, it only took like four fingers to squeeze both of them-”  
  
Mark let out a sigh, and Linda must have sensed his indignity at her reference to his previous size. “I’m sorry!” she said, with her own voice rising with annoyance. “But they were small before! Remember when I used to do that thing I like with my mouth?”  
  
Mark nodded. “Yeah.” Linda had previously, on special nights, been able to take his entire cock  _and_  both balls in her mouth. Though she hadn’t done it in years.  
  
“I don’t think I could do that now. It’s… it’s all definitely bigger!” She watched as it seemed to be growing in her hand, her face filled with surprise and wonder. Her hand could actually move up and down on the shaft in a jacking motion. “It’s… I swear it’s bigger than other guys! Of course, it’s been a while since I had any to compare, but-”  
  
 _What about your buddy Teddy Krieg_ , Mark wanted to ask, but didn’t.  
  
The front door opened downstairs and both Mark and Linda heard a number of teenage girls pour into the house - Lucia and her friends. Lucia was pretty and popular, and so her friends were pretty and popular as well. Many times, Mark had fantasized about schtupping them until they couldn’t walk, and with far less guilt than the fantasies that had overtaken him earlier in the week, concerning Lucia herself. In this case, the giggling and gossiping sounds of their teen voices made his cock jump in Linda’s hand, and she looked up at him mischievously.  
  
“Ooh… looks like something is turning you on,” Linda teased, and Mark immediately tried to deflect.   
  
“Your hand,” he said. “Lin, that feels really good-”  
  
“Mmm, bull _shit_ ,” she accused, but amazingly, not with any malice. In fact, Mark was amazed to notice that his wife looked horny as he’d seen her in months! She leaned in and took his tip in her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks and sucking it lewdly while making smoldering eye contact. Even the nature of her blowjob was changed by his increased size. Before, it was like she was sucking on a straw, and her lips made a tight “O”. Now, her mouth was forced open much more… and as he quickly approached full hardness, Mark was astounded to notice just how  _much_  his girth had increased.  
  
A combination of things was making him hard as a diamond. Linda marveling at his cock size was a new, wonderful feeling - something he’d never experienced but always fantasized about. Her eagerness to suck on him was another part of it. But most of all, and most uncharacteristic, was the way she had hinted that he was thinking of the hot teenage girls downstairs… and started sucking his dick anyway. It’s like she had said to him:  _“You’re a horny bastard, but you have a big dick, so I guess it’s to be expected.”_ Normally, he would have expected her to call him a pig instead and give him the cold shoulder.  
  
The way she was sucking his dick was different, too. In previous times, after a romantic evening, when she was in the mood to really blow his mind, it had felt like something Linda was doing for his pleasure. A favor. Now, it was like she was doing it for  _her_  pleasure. She was sucking and slurping and making lewd noises, and it was clearly turning her on! Her hand was even sneaking down between her legs and rubbing against her clit!   
  
“My god, Lin, that’s-”  
  
“Mmmmph!” she moaned, and then pulled her mouth off with a pop. “God what a big  _fucker_ ,” she hissed, spit connecting a bridge between his cockhead and her lips. “Those girls down there wouldn’t know what to do with it.”  
  
“Lin, Jesus!” He had never heard her say something so filthy.  
  
“But, I do” she finished, and reached behind him and planted her hands on his buttocks, taking his whole pipe in her mouth. Mark’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He hit the back of her throat, and unlike before, she could not take his balls into her mouth… they were banging against her chin, the size of small eggs. Before, each one had been smaller than the end of his thumb.  
  
Mark knew he wasn’t going to last long. That was for sure. He thrust into her mouth as she gagged and choked on his dick; the sounds of her irrumatio mixing with the gaggle of teenage hens on the ground floor as their muffled voices talked about school, boys, music, and reality TV. He lowered his hands to Linda’s hair and gripped her ponytail. Normally he wouldn’t have done so, but in the moment, controlling her head was instinctual, and she moaned out with pleasure as he did so, instead of rebuking him.  
  
“Lin, I’m gonna cum!” he breathed, huffing out his words, overcome with pleasure. And she gurgled eagerly around his dick and pulled him hard into her face, until her forehead was grinding into his belly and her nose was pressed into his pubic hair, as his cock exploded deep in her throat. Mark felt two, three, four, five heavy spurts of semen blast into her mouth, it was the most copious orgasm he could remember having, and he saw and heard her throat working to swallow that nut with lewd eagerness. Normally, she would have spit it out. If she was in a really horny mood, she might have opened her mouth to show him his semen first, but Linda had always spit it out.   
  
Now, his wife of 20 years was  _chugging his cum_  for the first time! And as his orgasm slowed, she withdrew, and with strands of cum and throat slime connecting her lips his prick, jacked his cock over her face, taking the final few spurts on her mouth, nose, cheeks, and forehead! “Oh, fuck!” she moaned. “What a huge fucking load!”  
  
Huge fucking load? Linda had never talked like that before, and hearing the words come out of her mouth was at once nasty, arousing and confusing. Had the difference of a few inches really caused such a change in approach? She was servicing his cock like a fucking whore!  
  
Their breathing slowed, and Linda eventually got to her feet, with the remains of his cum still on her face and spit splattered around her lips. It had been the nastiest, most enthusiastic blowjob she’d ever performed. “Fuck, Mark - look at it!” she said, pointing at his penis.  
  
Mark looked. Still erect, he finally had an unobstructed view of the size. It was larger than it had been before, so large that it seemed like it belonged on a completely different person. Definitely bigger than average. Flaccid, he hadn’t gotten a sense of it. But now, fully aroused, it was clear.  
“My god,” he breathed, staring down at himself with amazement. “I don’t understand.”  
  
“Hold on,” Linda said. “I have to see.” She went first to the washroom, cleaning her face, and then returned with a sewing kit that was kept under the sink with all manner of brick-a-brack. This, of course, contained a tape measure, which she unrolled as she knelt before him. Downstairs, Lucia and her friends were still giggling and talking. Linda gave him a knowing look, and then, amazingly, she winked.  
  
 _Where was all this before_ , Mark wondered. She was such a sexual creature in the moment, indulging all sorts of nasty fantasies; the story had been much different in the decades prior. He felt powerful… and also a little wounded. Like this new larger cock was unlocking all manner of things that  _old_  Mark Ottman, by virtue of his inadequate equipment, had been denied. Linda had always said she didn’t care about his size, that he was a good father and husband. But if she didn’t care… where had all this been?  
  
She held the measure to his shaft, which was still rock hard, pressing it against his base and reading it all the way to the tip, then marking each place with a finger. Her eyes went wide and her voice was astounded. “Mark, oh my god,” she said, and then held the measure up to him. Mark’s mouth dropped open as he read the tape.   
  
According to Linda’s measurement, his erect penis was now seven inches long.


	4. 9"

When Lucia and her teenage friends blew in from the street like wind-buoyed leaves, Mark Ottman was in the upstairs bathroom, examining himself. He had come home from work early, assuming the house would be empty. His kids had school, and Linda was visiting her mother, as she always did on Thursday afternoons. Miss Harris lived in a retirement community fifteen minutes away, and became very ornery if her daughter didn’t pay her regular visits.   
  
Mark, underwear around his ankles, was standing in front of the toilet and holding a shaving mirror below his dick with one hand, and lifting his shaft and balls with the other. There was no doubt they were bigger than they had been even a week before, when Linda had made the official measurement of seven inches. He put three fingers under one of his testicles and lifted it experimentally. It felt very round, very full. He tugged down on it experimentally, and rubbed the skin of his scrotum between two fingers, then gripped his testicle and rubbed the skin around it as if he were polishing a rock. He did this with a strange, rapt fascination. These were feelings he had never experienced before. His balls seemed to have swollen to the size of eggs - though he didn’t feel discomfort or pressure or any throbbing pains - and after being basically unaware of them for nearly forty years, they were presenting themselves front and center. They were bigger, fuller, and hanging lower than they ever had.  
  
Mark had gone and dropped his underwear with relief after arriving home; his balls were feeling extremely confined within his white briefs, and that had felt more than a little uncomfortable. He stood over the toilet and took a long, satisfying piss, and even that mundane event had not been free from the realization that his stream was thicker and more powerful than before. Usually he pissed on the back of the toilet bowl so as not to make a loud and conspicuous noise… especially in the middle of the night, when the pissing sound seemed amplified a thousand-fold. Experimentally, he aimed down to the center of the bowl and watched as his piss stirred the water up into a foamy, yellow swirl. With a clench of his muscles he intensified it and soon it seemed like he was blasting the water hard enough to send tiny droplets skittering back upward.  
  
“What the fuck…” he had muttered, sure that he had never pissed so powerfully in his life.  _Maybe_  in college during a night of drinking,  _maybe_  after holding it in on a long car ride and a few sodas. But this had been your normal, average, everyday piss.  _What the fuck_ , indeed.   
  
Once the deed was done Mark saw that several long, kinky, dark-colored pubic hairs had drifted down to the rim; he gathered a square of toilet paper and wiped these up, flushing them down before giving his pubis an examination. The ol’ bush  _was_  looking a little unkempt, though he had almost never worried about such things before in his life. He tugged at his pubes experimentally, they seemed darker and more coarse, which was slightly alarming. And there was something else - a smell drifting up toward his nose, one that he’d sensed in small hints even earlier, at the office. It was a something he associated with working long hours in hot offices and sweating into his underwear. The wicked smell of hot, musky balls and dick. In this case, however, it was early in the afternoon, his office had been air-conditioned, and he’d not been sweating at all… at least, as far as he knew.  
  
Mark stepped out of his underwear at that point and gathered them, taking a careful, don’t-get-too-close sniff as they bunched in his hand. They had been clean - a freshly washed pair he’d put on that morning. Yet the scent in his nose was akin to a dead wolverine about two miles upward. A hot, sweaty, animal  _musk_.  
  
 _Jesus_ , he thought.  _Is that coming from me?_  
  
His first thought was to change, both to ease the pressure on his balls and to lessen the musky smell that he now feared was following him around in a cloud. He’d had Linda pick up some boxer shorts while shopping, there were three pairs in plastic wrapping, unopened, on the night table next to the bed. He had been about to try them out when he heard Lucia and her friends enter on the ground floor.  
  
 _What the hell is she doing here? She has school for at least another three hours!_  
  
It seemed his daughter and her friends were skipping a few classes. Why? He didn’t know. And more importantly, they had no idea he was there. He, too, was skipping something - work in his case - and for testicle-gazing reasons too embarrassing to admit. He could hear their voices, slightly muffled, as they talked in the kitchen, communicating in the free-wheeling “no adults around” fashion that any parent seldom sees. He caught snippets of conversation, bunches of words rather than whole sentences.  
  
 _..Craig is such a jerk..._  
 _...Maybe next week we can..._  
 _...but he was going out with…_  
  
Mark felt his cock twitch. He was used to tuning Lucia out when she talked with her friends; it was usually the same endless rhetoric about beauty products, teachers she didn’t like, music, and of course, boys and relationships. This time, though, there was something strangely voyeuristic about hearing them talk when they thought nobody is around. He recognized the other two friends, he thought - Marissa, a snooty brunette, and Mary-Anne, a redhead who Mark considered the most attractive of Lucia’s friends. For schools she favored plaid skirts and sweaters that wrapped her boobs ever-to-tightly. Mark was still awkwardly holding his dick, his hand creeping from a ball-examining grip to a jerking grip, when he heard more words emanate up through the floor.  
  
 _...heard he has a really big dick!_  
  
This was followed by gasps and laughter, and blood immediately rushed to Mark’s hanging cock, making it start to swell. Just three weeks prior, it had seemed pathetically small on his six-plus foot, 240 pound frame - his wife, Linda, sometimes jokingly called him a ‘big galoot’ - but now it seemed not only to fit but exceed his barrel belly and large thighs, emerging from his pubic area to dangle down nearly half a foot, flaccid. His balls, previously invisible, now drooped in a scrotum that seemed to labor under their weight. Mark could  _feel_  them in his ball-bag, banging against first one thigh, then the other.  
  
Had it been Lucia’s voice? He wasn’t sure. The idea that his daughter and her friends were talking about big dick was both alarming and also arousing him in record time. His eyes fell to a heating vent on the floor, partially obscured by a fuzzy bath mat. Kneeling down, completely in the nude, he moved the mat aside and pressed his ear to the grate.  
  
“Sandra said it took him a long time to get hard,” someone was saying. It was either Marissa or Mary-Anne, he could not tell which. “They were making out for like, twenty minutes. But she could totally feel it through his jeans.”  
  
“Did she  _see_  it, though?” That was Lucia, sounding inappropriately interested… or was that just in Mark’s imagination.  
  
“Duhh!  _Yeah_  she saw it. She said she blew him and it was  _super_ -big.” Mark was sure that must be Mary-Anne, who had the long legs, that copper-red hair down to her mid-back, and a pair of gravity-defying, perking tits only possible at her tender age. He had spent more than one evening idly watching TV while dreaming about plowing her through the mattress, though of course he’d been careful not to hint at any intent in that regard. He was, after all, 25 years older than her. Mark realized he must look absolutely ridiculous, on his hands and knees, ear pressed to the grate, his belly and cock hanging down as he positioned like a bear rooting for grubs in a tree hollow. But something about hearing his daughter and her teen friends talk about big cocks was making butterflies swim in his stomach  _and_  his balls.  
  
“Sandra would totally go for that!” someone chirped, and then all there girls peeled into gales of laughter for a few moments, before Mark heard someone ask a question. It sounded like  _would you be into that?_  
  
Then, a voice that unmistakably belonged to his teenage daughter: “It probably hurts. It probably doesn’t even feel good.”  
  
“He’s just gotta know how to use it!” Mary-Anne said, and there was more laughter. “And you were totally into it. Remember those pictures?”  
  
“Oh, we were just joking around!” Lucia insisted, but then Mary-Anne and Marissa both seemed to jump on her with catty, teasing wails. Mark’s mind exploded anew. Pictures? Had his daughter been perusing porn with her friends? Perhaps porn with some rather “larger than average” devices on display? He could imagine them in their nighties and panties, holding fluffy pillows, gathering around a laptop and scrolling through page after page of pinup beefcake, the type of hung hunks meant to appeal to gay men as much as straight women. They were probably laughing as they did it - none of them wanting to admit to each other that those fat cocks were making their smooth little teenage pussies tingle. That would be slutty, and Mark had overheard enough talk to know that  _slut_  was the derogatory word of choice that Lucia reserved for her chief rivals.  
  
“Oooh, look at her blush!” the girls were saying, giggling and teasing. “Lucia loves big, fat cock!”  
  
“Shut up!”  
  
“Your face is so red! No wonder you always order a foot-long at Subway!” This was Marissa talking, and Mark found this ridiculous joke to be in keeping with her weird, juvenile sense of humor.  
  
“Shut up Marissa, if anyone likes big dicks, it’s you! You’re the one who brought it up.” Mark could hear the annoyance in Lucia’s voice here, and the giggling went silent for a bit before starting again. A moment of tension had passed between the three and they were calming down.  
  
There was a moment of silence, and then Marissa’s voice again. “I gotta use the restroom, hold on a sec.” Mark was a trifle disappointed as the lewd conversation seemed to be steering back to the mundane, truth be told, but then he heard something that sent a bucket of ice-water into his guts.  
  
“Use the one upstairs,” Lucia suggested. “I need to fix my hair if we’re going to stop by the place.”  
  
The one upstairs. Mark didn’t know what ‘place’ Lucia was visiting, and didn’t care. What he did know was, there was only one bathroom upstairs. The one he was in. The one where he was presently on his hands and knees, stark raving nude, with his half-hard cock hanging down like a good-sized kielbasa sausage. He scrambled to his feet as he heard Marissa begin to ascend the stairs, there were twelve in all leading to the second floor. Eight, then a hairpin turn with a landing, then another four-step riser. Mark knew he had  _maybe_  ten seconds.  
  
 _Flush the toilet_ , he told himself. Make a noise so they realize there’s someone else in the house.  _Sure, it’ll be awkward since they’re skipping school, and you’re skipping work, but it’s better than just letting her waltz in here._  
  
That was what he told himself to do. That was what he intended to do, right up until the last moment. But something seemed to overtake him, a compulsion deep inside, urging him to do something else. A devil on his shoulder. Later, remembering the moment, Mark could not have explained why he did what he did. It just happened.   
  
 _They’re not even supposed to be here. They’re the ones cutting classes and intruding in my house. Should I pity them if they see something they don’t like? It’s just an innocent accident, anyway._  
  
As he heard Marissa’s footsteps her leather boots, just outside the door. His cock was not hard enough to be poking upward and erect; if it had been, his plan would not have worked. As it was, it was partially full of blood but drooping straight down nonetheless - exactly as he hoped it would be. As large as possible while still in a flaccid-looking state.  
  
Marissa opened the door. Mark feigned surprise. He was turned directly toward the door and without a stitch of clothing on, giving his daughter’s 17-year-old schoolfriend an unobstructed view of his  _big, fat, hairy cock_  and his heavy balls! He acted frozen in surprise. Time seemed to slow down. Her pretty face, perfectly complexioned and done up with makeup, dropped into a look of utter shock. Her light green eyes went as wide as he’d ever seen them. Mark could tell she was taking it all in. Every vein, every bulge, every measurement of thickness and length. The color and curvature of his cock-crown. The big fat down running down the top of his dick to his tip. The spikes and curlicues of his pubes. The way his shaft hung down over his balls, settling against his scrotum and indenting it lightly. His pisshole. Young Marissa was taking in his  _whole hog_  and the  _wide, portly, adult body_  surrounding it.   
  
There would be embarrassment, Mark knew. Embarrassment at being discovered skipping class, embarrassment at walking in on another person with no clothes on. But there would be, he thought, something else. Marissa talked and dressed like a little mynx, true enough, but she wasn’t  _experienced_. She may have kissed some boys, maybe even fucked a couple. But no boy at school would have prepared her for being confronted by that big, adult dick. Fading quickly from the light pink of his abdomen to brown and darkish pink, with big heavy nuts, filling the air with musk, dropping pubes like breadcrumbs for Hansel and Gretel. A fat, swarthy, nasty fuckpipe and it was, in that moment, all for her.  
  
Mark saw her taking it in, in that moment, that time that seemed to stand still. Here eyes were wide and drinking in his cock. He knew, from feel and his own visual inspection, that it was larger than ever, and Marissa St. Jean was the first women to experience it. Even Linda had not seen it at this size.  
  
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” she squawked, and pulled the door shut quickly. The whole thing had seemed like an eternity, but had probably only lasted two seconds in reality. Mark placed a hand over his beating heart and felt it thump in his chest as his mouth twisted into a disbelieving smile.  
  
 _I can’t believe I did that. Have I gone fucking crazy?_  
  
The adrenaline rush was intense, but Mark shook it off, realizing he had work to do. “Sorry!” he called out, through the door. “It’s alright. It’s alright, just an accident, that’s all.”  
  
“I’m  _so_  sorry, Mister Ottman,” Marissa was saying, and Mark and could hear her backing away from the door, wanting to wash her hands of the embarrassment of the encounter. He moved toward the door and spoke through it again.  
  
“Just an accident, Marissa, it’s alright,” he said, trying his best to sound like the amiable, non-threatening adult figure he’d always been in the presence of Lucia and her friends. Now, he leveraged that non-threatening currency to defuse the situation. “Just some bad luck. I didn’t know anyone was home.” This was a lie, but believable enough. “I’ll be out in a second, if you need to use the-”  
  
“N-no,” Marissa stammered, and Mark thought he could sense  _her_  heart pounding as well. “I’ll use the one downstairs. I mean, I’ll wait for Lucia.”  
  
Mark smiled. The deferential note in Marissa’s voice pleased him. Mark had generally been a big believer in not paying too much attention to what the girls might think of him, lest he eavesdrop hear things he might not like. They certainly didn’t think he was ‘cool’, and he guessed that Lucia did no end of complaining about any punishments, rules or curfews he laid down. Mostly, the girls completely ignored him, which had never precisely bothered him before, even if it sometimes made him feel like a ghost in his own residence. But Marissa’s days of ignoring him were done. She knew what he had between his legs now, she would no longer see him as boring, uncool old Mr. Ottman but as a male figure with a  _big cock_  between his legs. Mark suddenly felt an upward surge of mood. He felt  _great_. In a million years, pre-accident Mark never could have devised a way to make teenage girls take him seriously, but having a larger-than-life cock had achieved it in seconds!  
  
 _This is amazing_ , he thought.  _It’s like a dream come true_. His self-esteem, surging, was as good or better than any drug. Lucia’s teenage friends seemed to like big dicks, and  _he had one_. It really was that simple. He could walk in front of them and know that they weren’t snickering about the extra forty pounds on his tall frame, or his clothes, or the fact that with his reading glasses on, he looked a bit like Peter Griffin from  _Family Guy_. (This joke, which he tried to chuckle along with, was particularly unfair, in Mark’s estimation. He judged that, extra forty pounds or not, he wasn’t nearly as fat as Peter Griffin.)  
  
Marissa went back down the stairs, and Mark knew that there would be no more conversations to overhear. Now that they knew they weren’t alone, the girls would lower their voices and confine any audible talk to “safe” topics. It was barely five minutes later, when he was unwrapping and sliding on his new, roomier boxer shorts, that Lucia and her friends left the house entirely, probably to avoid a conversation about school attendance.  
  
He was alone, feeling powerful, and more horny than he’d ever been in his life. But Linda was gone, and Mark wasn’t a man who kept porn around the house, on his phone, or on any computers his kids might be able to snoop on.   
  
 _I wish Linda was here_ , he thought, with excited frustration. Had she been, he would give her a fucking she wouldn’t soon forget. Linda herself had been rather randy lately, and prone to whispering dirty things in his ear that he’d never expected her to think about. What would Linda think, he wondered, about his ‘encounter’ with Marissa? Would she scold him for being a dirty old man? Act suspicious of his motives and accuse him? Or would she wink at him, as she had the week prior, and tell him seductively that that 17-year-old girl must have gotten an eyeful, but she wouldn’t know what to do with his fat cock, while Linda  _most certainly did_?  
  
Almost without realizing it, he was on the verge of orgasm, and stroking his cock over the toilet. The taboo encounter with Marissa had primed his pump and now his fantasies were taking him over the edge. Before orgasm overtook him he ceased jerking and looked around furtively. He had an idea, he knew what he wanted. The idea of those teen girls had excited him; he couldn’t have them, of course, but something close.  
  
 _You’ve really lost it this time_ , a voice inside him said, as he crossed the hall and entered Lucia’s room. It was light pink on the walls, full of posters cut into star shapes, stuffed animals and books on the shelves, and heaps of clothes. The bed, with marshmallow powder-yellow sheets, was unmade. But what he wanted was in the top dresser drawer… or so Mark assumed.  
  
 _Hurry up,_ said the voice in his mind again.  _You’re rifling your daughter’s drawers with a massive erection while stark raving nude. If anyone comes home they’ll throw you in the nut hatch_. The danger was a real one, but Mark quickly came up with what he was looking for - Lucia’s underwear draw. Panties upon panties, neatly folded and stacked.   
  
He lifted a pile up and discovered a mostly-empty baggie of marijuana underneath. “You little  _sneak_ ,” he hissed, but the evidence of his daughter’s lack of innocence only made his dick rage harder. The top pair of underwear was white with red trim, a red bow just below the waistband, with a medium coverage back. Looking at it, he just knew his daughter’s toned, tanned ass would be too much for these panties to handle, they would probably cut gorgeously into her skin and make indentations in the meat of her bubble-butt.  
  
He gripped them in hand, brought them low, and wrapped them around his dick. The silken feeling was amazing, and Mark found himself quickly rising to the precipice of orgasm once again. He had meant to go jerk over the toilet or lay down in bed, but fuck, doing it right in Lucia’s room was so… so.  
  
 _What the fuck are you doing? You’re losing it!_  
  
He paid the warning of his mind no heed. He had his eyes closed and he was imagining Marissa and Lucia in the room, in their underwear, having a slumber party, rubbing skin cream on each other. _Mmm, your dad has a fucking huge cock_ , Marissa was telling Lucia.  _Do you ever want to suck it?_  
  
 _Sometimes_ , said fantasy Lucia, rubbing gloss over her plump lips. She spoke in the same voice that had begged him for treats and gifts and to use the car so many years.  _Sometimes I just want to crawl under his covers in the morning and suck his big, sweaty dick! It smells really nasty but I like that!_  
  
“You fuckin’ little  _slut_!” Mark moaned, and his penis exploded in the makeshift sleeve of Lucia’s panties - he could feel the fat ropes of cum blasting out of his pisshole and into the soft material of her unmentionables - the same material that would on any other day be sliding softly against her hot little teen slit! He was fucking up Lucia’s panties and  _filling_  them with cum as he wheezed and fantasized and jerked while hunched over her dresser.  
  
When it was over, he examined the panties to show the damage done. They were a MESS. The gooey, nasty cum had turned the material sheer and showed off just how off-white, nearly yellow, his cum was. It was the thickest cumshot he had ever produced, that much was for sure, and some of the big chunks and ropes were still intact, smeared on the crotch of the garment. Hell, it looked like three or four guys had jerked off on them not just one. Adding to the defilement were four or five wiry, kinky pubic hairs that were also conspicuous against the white material.  
  
 _My daughter has worn these against her pussy and ass and I just turned them into a jerk-rag_ , Mark thought, his mind spinning. His orgasm and hardon were fading off into the distance, taking the feeling of being ‘king of the world’ along with them. Instead, he began to feel a very alarming, very empty sense of guilt. Fantasies were one thing, but he had exposed himself to a teenage girl and jerked off into his daughter’s panties in the space of half an hour. Yes, his cock was bigger. Yes, it was an amazing change. Euphoric. A miracle, even. But for the first time he felt like he was changing too.  
  
“I have to get my shit together,” he said aloud, and squeezed his fist around the panties. He would dress and then launder them himself, he decided, then decide how much, if anything, to tell Linda. The jerking off he would certainly leave out. The Marissa encounter, maybe… with some selective editing about it being an accident. He couldn’t tell the truth.  
  
Mark suddenly felt very alone.


	5. 9 1/2"

Mark was having trouble concentrating on work.  
  
Having come in on a Sunday to catch up on many, many things he’d let slide during his legal case, he found his mind wandering from the financial world of futures, options, management fees and risk tolerances, and to the much more vibrant world of tits and asses. Every fifteen minutes he would curse aloud in his quiet office (his office assistant was not in on the weekend, the building was mostly empty) and remind himself that he had to work; he had emails to write,  prospectuses to develop, consultations to deliver, reports to file. But no matter how much Mark promised to buckle down and get things done, his thoughts kept drifting and his pants continued to be tented by a bothersome and persistent erection. It had been two hours and he had barely managed to open a document, let alone do anything.  
  
He rose and wandered to his office window; the ‘shrine’ to the boy who had been slain by his car was still there. The sidewalk chalk well-wishes were fresh, probably done that morning, and several bouquets of flowers had been places that were yet to wilt. This made him feel a pang of helpless anger.   
  
_Jesus Christ, it’s been almost five months since the accident and almost two since the trial. And not only will they not leave me alone but they’re still tying me up in civil court,_ he thought, viciously. _They’re laying flowers across to shame me because they think I deserve more punishment than what I got. Or maybe because they don’t like how good ol’ Teddy Krieg painted their boy out to be a gangbanger._  
  
“Fuckin’ Ted,” he grumbled, aloud. “Why did I hire that asshole?” Mark realized that he wasn’t going to be in any mood to get work done. What he really wanted to do was head home and give Linda a good plowing. She’d been working out the last few months and was looking better than she had in perhaps ten years, after regular trips to the gym. The baby weight that had never fully come off after Katie was all but gone. Mark was filled with an urge to take her up to the bedroom and show her just what his new endowment could do. But it would be a real walk of shame to come home after he’d promised to catch up on work. Especially since one of the few punishments that did come from his criminal trial was the loss of his license to operate a motor vehicle and he would have to call Linda to pick him up. Not exactly alpha male behavior.   
  
_I’m gonna fuck your brains out, baby… if you can come get me._  
  
Sighing, Mark briefly considered perusing some porn on the office computers, but ruled the possibility out at once. The building was on a skeleton crew, true, but there were some people still present, and though he knew his way around technology, he wasn’t familiar enough with IT to be 100% sure his browsing habits wouldn’t be detected by their internet security people. Being unceremoniously fired for Google searching “daughter takes father’s BIG NINE INCH DICK” was the last thing he needed.  
  
_Why was that the first search that came to your mind_ , he asked himself.  _Didn’t you promise to get your shit together?_  
  
Yes, he had promised. After exposing himself to Lucia’s friend and then defiling his own daughter’s panties with the biggest load of cum he had ever seen, he’d felt tremendous guilt and vowed never to do such a thing again. He had washed the panties thoroughly and placed them back in Lucia’s drawer where he found them, but despite his promises to keep his fantasies kosher, Mark found his thoughts drifting back to the act as soon as that very night, as he tried to sleep. Lucia  _was_  going to wear those panties again… pulling them up her shapely, toned legs until the crotch cupped her puffy pussy mound and the medium-coverage back struggled with her pert, gravity defying bubble-butt… the nub of her clit pressing outward and making a slight, detectable indentation in the cotton, the same cotton he’d absolutely drenched with his massive load!  
  
“Fuck,” Mark breathed, and reached down to adjust his throbbing boner. It was jutting straight up and actually pressing the crotch of his slacks up past his belt, like the protruding head of a spooky Halloween ghost. His horniness reaching new heights, he decided to call Linda after all. She might be grumpy, but he would make it up to her. He sat down and collected the office phone, holding it to his ear and dialing home.  
  
It rang twice, and then a male voice picked up. “Ottman residence,” it said, expectantly. It was a voice he recognized, and not that of his son Kevin. A deeper, more adult voice.   
  
“Ted?” Mark said, incredulously. “Is that you?”   
  
“Oh hey, Mark,” Ted replied, his good-natured don’t-worry-about-a-thing lawyerly affectation kicking in. “Linda is taking Kevin to see your doctor. Thinks he might have an ear infection.”  
  
Mark considered this news and then barreled on. “Sure, but why are you-”  
  
“Just stopped by to discuss a few things about the case. I needed a release to get that tire tread wear expert on our witness list, but Linda said you were at the office.”  
  
“Yeah, and?” Mark replied, trying and failing to hide the testiness in his voice. His cock was literally nearly bumping into the underside of his desk; he had expected to whisper a few dirty nothings to his wife, and instead, the phone had been answered by his lawyer, who was at his house much to often lately for Mark’s taste.  
  
“And it’s four-thousand to get him, but I think it’s worth it because even if you are found partially liable, if the dealership had tires on there that were-”  
  
“No,” Mark interrupted. “I mean, why are you still at my house if Linda is gone?”  
  
For the first time, Ted seemed to realize Mark’s agitation and got a bit cautious. “Oh, well Lucia was complaining that Linda had to take Kevin to the doctor because she needed a ride somewhere too in like half an hour. So I said I could help out-”  
  
Mark’s stomach dropped a little. The idea of pussy-hound, amoral hotshot lawyer Ted chumming around with his wife was bad enough, but driving Lucia somewhere in his sleazy convertible? Probably chatting her up about whether she had a boyfriend, ogling her the entire way? It was enough to make Mark’s face redden.  
  
“I decided to head home,” Mark said. “Don’t worry about driving her, we’ll figure something out.”  
  
Ted seemed taken aback. “But you can’t drive, buddy,” he chided. “Your license, remember?”  
  
Mark hung up the phone, and dialed again, this time for a cab.

 

* * *

  
  
Twenty minutes later, Mark was home. He’d paid the cabbie an extra twenty to really step on it. He walked in and Ted was seated at the kitchen table, browsing something on his phone, wearing a light-colored suit and no tie, with the top button of his shirt undone to show the impeccably tanned flesh of his neck and upper chest. His hair was perfect as usual and showed no signs of thinning or recession. He looked up as Mark stomped in with his briefcase.  
  
“Hey buddy,” Ted greeted. “You take a cab?”  
  
_You know I did,_  Mark thought.  _Just like you known that your position as our lawyer is the perfect excuse to insinuate yourself into our lives. And the fact that I can’t drive is the perfect excuse for you to drive my kids around. And me being at the office all the time is a good reason to drop by my house and talk to my wife, you Miami Vice-looking cocksucker._  
  
“Where’s Lucia?” Mark asked, and Ted tucked a thumb and gestured behind him.  
  
“Laying out by the pool,” he explained. Mark took a few steps to the right and looked out through the double-doors leading to the lawn and pool. Lucia was face-down on a padded pool chair, wearing only a tiny bikini bottom, the bikini top untied to prevent tan lines, her eyes hidden with sunglasses and her sandy-blonde hair drying in a wild tangle behind her head. Two things immediately became clear to Mark. First, his daughter had an absolutely amazing bubble butt that rose like to twin hemispheres of golden tanned flesh, and her breasts were big enough that he could see how they bulging out to the side of her body as she lay face-down. Second, Ted had positioned himself next to the doors in order to get a prime view of Lucia’s tits and ass as she tanned.  
  
“I gotta advise you against driving her yourself if that’s what you have in mind,” Ted offered. “You got off light in that trial but you don’t want to poke the bear. If the judge thinks you’re bucking the one punishment you  _did_ get-”  
  
Mark ignored Ted and put two fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly out toward the pool. “Lucia, get in here!” His cock had softened during the cab ride home - the smell of cigarettes and stale sweat didn’t do much for his libido - and he was glad for it when she rose up and walked toward the kitchen after re-tying her bikini. He couldn’t help but look at the hint of camel toe displayed by her drying bikini bottom. Not to mention the way her ass exploded out of that thin, nearly-a-thong back panel.   
  
Before Lucia could say anything he addressed her. “Go get dressed if you have somewhere to go,” he prompted, and then gestured toward the stairs up to her room. “I’ll drive you.”  
  
She raised one eyebrow. “Dad, I thought you-”  
  
“It’s okay,” Mark assured her. “It’s okay, just go get dressed. I have to talk to Ted real quick.”  
  
Perhaps sensing that he was agitated with that intuition that all children have about their parents, but not knowing why, Lucia decided against saying more and made her way through the kitchen, her perfect teenage ass jiggling past the sink, past the center island with its marble top, and out the door to the living room. Both adults watched her go and then turned to each other.  
  
“Are you alright, Mark?” Ted ventured, putting down his phone. “I know it’s stifling to be under the public eye, and not be able to drive. But like I said, if you buck against it-”  
  
“Oh I’m fine!” Mark said, expansively, his eyes wide and his teeth in an exaggerated smile. “Peachy keen! Except I’ve got a lawyer who defended me by ruining a dead kid’s reputation and now every Haitian in the city hates my fucking guts.”  
  
Ted’s face flushed. “I  _told_  you,” he objected. “With the judge we pulled, that strategy would work. You said you wanted a sure thing and I gave you a sure thing. I told you it could get messy!”  
  
“Bullshit!” Mark spat. “You were laying it on thick about how it wouldn’t be that bad. But that was character assassination.”  
  
“It kept you out of jail, didn’t it?” Ted returned, and now his voice was rising and his collar area growing a little red beneath the fringed of his expensive shirt. “You’re being a little ungracious right now, Mark. Considering all I’ve done-”  
  
Mark threw back his head and laughed. “All you’ve done! Stopping by to chat up my wife every couple of days. Telling her about how you can see she’s losing weight and how good she looks. Helping out with the kids. Good old Uncle Teddy.” For a second, Ted looked down and away, and it seemed a flash of guilt entered his eyes, confirming all that Mark had suspected. Prolonged court battles, being complicit in violent accidental deaths, many marriages would not survive a thing like that, and Mark was sure that Ted knew that better than anyone.  
  
“How many times have you done this, that’s what I want to know,” Mark went on. “How many husbands and wife couples have you had in your office, both of them grief-stricken over some awful event? How many of those families got the Good Old Uncle Teddy touch, huh? How many of those wives ended up using ol’ Uncle Ted as a shoulder to cry on while their husbands were going through all sorts of shit?”  
  
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Ted said, rising from his seat. “Linda is a grown woman. If we’ve become friendly-”  
  
“I’m going to keep my voice down because my daughter is upstairs,” Mark said, overriding Ted again. “If you need anything related to the case, you talk to me. Not Linda.”  
  
Ted seemed to bridle a little. “Mark, I realize you’re stressed out and upset. But there’s no reason to make… ultimatums like this. I’ve been strictly professional. Like you, Linda has become a friend these last few months. Perhaps the whole no-driving thing must has you feeling a little... insecure.”  
  
Amazingly, Ted’s lip curled up into a momentary grin with his final words.  _Yeah it’s tough satisfying your wife when she has to pick you up from work like you’re in pre-school_ , his face seemed to be saying.  _But don’t worry, ‘buddy’. I’ve got it handled. Your case and your wife._  
  
Mark realized he had never been so angry in his life. Very occasionally in his life, he had seen times when men inspired such deference from other men that even the thought of offending them was met with apologies. Usually, these were huge financial moguls are investors. And earlier than that, back in high school, he had seen the larger and more powerful boys be viewed with awe by the smaller ones. When these boys said something, the others listened. The common thread in each case was that the other males saw them as a threat. To livelihood or physical safety. They needed to be respected.  
  
Ted did not see him as a threat. Mark had said in no uncertain terms that Ted should stay away from Linda, and what had Ted’s response been? No apologies. No “yes sir”. No fear. Just a bunch of bullshit.  
  
“You need to relax,” Ted was saying, and the smile was back on his face as he looked at Mark across the table. “You take care of your responsibilities. And I’ll take care of-”  
  
FLOP.  
  
Ted’s voice trailed off.  
  
Mark Ottman had literally pulled out his dick and let it slap down on the kitchen table. The enormous, flaccid length of pipe lay like a dead, flesh-colored snake, longer while  _soft_  than any the fully erect endowment of all but the most gifted men. The fat hose trailed down over two big, hairy nuts that seemed the size of lemons, laying fat and happy in front of a tangled, dark pubic bush.  
  
“There,” said Mark.   
  
“I… what are you...” Ted stammered. He didn’t seem to know what to do.  
  
“Listen to me, asshole,” Mark said, and Ted’s wide eyes barely left the length of meat. “You would not even  _touch the sides_  if you tried to fuck my wife. She would  _laugh_  at your tiny faggot dick, Ted. She’s polite and flirty and she likes attention so she’s being nice to you. But you see this here?” he said, pointing to his cock. “You see this? This is a sign, Ted. It’s a sign that says ‘YOUR SERVICES ARE NOT REQUIRED’.”  
  
Mark took a deep breath and examined Ted. He could almost  _see_  the man’s confidence completely crumble. Mark’s heart soared. He had never experienced anything like this. In that instant he knew what it was like to walk into a locker room in high school, the first kid with a moustache, the first kid to hit six feet, the first kid to be bigger and stronger and better. The feeling of absolute alpha domination was better than any drug; hell, it was even better than sex. Ted Krieg could talk his way out of anything, bullshit his way out of any jam. But he could not talk his way out of this. There was no argument to make that wouldn’t sound completely feeble. Uncle Teddy had to accept the fact that he was not as big. That the man of the house was Mark Motherfucking Ottman. All he would have left of his desire to fuck another man’s wife would be a sense of shame.  
  
“This is ridiculous,” Ted finally managed, and buttoned his suit-jacket as if to leave. “This grade-school bullshit.” His face as sullen and shocked.  
  
Mark just laughed, long and deep. Ted was already playing it off but he could see in his eyes that he  _believed_. That cock size  _was_  important to him. That being with Linda no longer had the same appeal if she was coming home to this  _monster hog_  every night. With just one simple action, Mark had effectively neutered Ted. From then on, he knew, it really would be all business. The visits to the house would stop. The excuses to talk to Linda would stop.   
  
They would deal with the case like two men. And Mark knew from that moment on which of them would be in charge. Ted turned and walked out the back way, sparing one last glance at Mark before moving out of sight on the path adjacent the house. “Now you know, Ted,” Mark called after him, good-naturedly. “I’ll fax you the release for the tire-tread expert on Monday.”  
  
He heard Ted’s car door slam and the car start. Mark laughed again. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he looked down at his own long, fat cock with wonderment. He had never felt so  _powerful_  or so  _alive_.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
And from around the corner, crouched on the stairs and peering through the wooden beams of the bannister, there were other eyes watching. Lucia was barely able to stifle a gasp as she saw he father’s huge cock flop onto the table. Her mind went back to an earlier text message exchange with Marissa:  
  
  
**OMG it was so weird walking in on your dad**  
  


> **Why do you keep mentioning it**

  
  
**Have you ever seen him naked**  
  


> **lol no, not since I was a little kid**

  
  
**Wanna know a secret? His cock is HUGE!**  
  


> **Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww marissa wtf**

  
  
**It hangs like way down and it’s SO fat**  
  
**So fucking big and nasty <3**  
  
**I’m kinda jealous you get to live with him and see it all the time**  
  


> **Stop joking around I don't SEE IT ever**

  
  
She had crept back down the stairs when she heard her father arguing with Ted, wearing a short plaid skirt and a long-sleeved plunge-neck blouse that clung tightly to her upper body, her toes curling around the edge of the riser as she cocked her head to listen. They were arguing but it wasn’t so much what she heard as what she saw.   
  
After talking Mr. Krieg for a bit, her father had exposed his dick and laid it right on the table. And Marissa was right. It was huge! Lucia had seen her share of frontal nudity in her life, but this was nothing like the airbrushed art-model hunks, with their non-threatening, smooth, reasonably proportioned dicks. Her father’s cock was so thick and long and the nuts were so full and round and big!   
  
Having sex with that would be so… so...  
  
“Big and nasty,” she whispered to herself. Yet even as she said it, the burly firemen and male models were slipping from her mind and the image of huge, foreskin-wrapped, fat-nutted fuckhog was replacing them. Lucia’s bottom lip quivered and, unconsciously, she brought her perfectly-sized, white incisors down to bite at the pert flesh. She brought her knees together until they knocked… and underneath her skirt, she was wearing the very same panties her father had ‘encountered’ only a day before.  
  
“Fuck,” she whispered again. “That’s so… gross!” But between her legs, 17-year-old blonde, gorgeous, popular Lucia Ottman was quivering like she never had before. 


	6. 10"

_Slap. Slap. Slap_. “Oh, Mark! Oh, god!”   
  
Linda Ottman’s voice echoed off the ceiling of the Hilton’s top floor corner suite as Mark pinned her knees back and buried his cock deep in her pussy with slow, deliberate stroked. The slapping sound was the impact of his heavy ballsack against the underside of her full buttocks. It was one of many sounds of sex that was filling the room.  
  
Mark thought about the events that had compelled the two of them to rent a room on the spur of the moment. First, filled with adrenaline after giving Teddy Krieg the bum’s rush from the premises, he’d saddled up and driven Lucia to her friend’s house, despite not having a valid license (oh and by the way, being prohibited by court order from operating a motor vehicle in the state). Lucia, who was dressed in black sheer leggings and a tight sweater, her hair done up with a barette, had asked tentatively if her and “Mr. Krieg” had an argument. She’d heard noises from upstairs, she said.  
  
 _Actually, hon, I was just whipping out the ol’ hog. Men have to do that sometimes when another man starts some shit and starts sniffing around. I’ll tell you all about it when you’re older._ What he actually told her was that it was no big deal and related to the case, but Lucia’s doubtful expression made it clear she was skeptical. Nonetheless, he got a thrill from bucking the no-driving rules and dropping her off across town, watching her walk up the front path of a medium-sized two story house and step inside to greet a gaggle of her hot, popular friends.  
  
Mark had returned home without incident (he saw one police car at a traffic light; the guy was paying the slightest bit of attention to him), feeling energized, and was almost instantly followed by Linda, who was returning with a very annoyed Kevin from the doctor’s office, with ear medicine in tow. She asked him what he was doing home from work and he told Linda he had some business at home. After Kevin scampered upstairs to his room, he took Linda aside and explained what it had been.  
  
He’d been expecting a fight, since Linda seemed to like Ted, but she got just the opposite.  _Yes,_  Linda agreed,  _Ted was getting rather familiar with the family_. This statement was accompanied by a bit of a blush and a guilty look, confirming that Linda had known about and tolerated Ted’s flirting, and perhaps even welcomed it. Then, with Katie and Kevin upstairs in their rooms, Mark had stepped close to her, putting his hand on her hip, and explained that she wouldn’t be seeing Ted around the house anymore. Linda had flushed immediately with interest at his advances.  
  
“That’s good,” she said. “It’s not… appropriate for him to be here,” she agreed, and her hand slid past Mark’s belly and down to his crotch, where his penis was straining against the fabric. “Now that… now that the man of the house is home.” The long time couple then shared a smoldering glance and fell into each others arms, kissing and groping with a passion. Linda, in her halter top and yoga pants showing off her tits and ass, was in that moment a playground for her husband’s eager palms, and she reciprocated by gripping his girthy cock through his pants and stroking it eagerly as they explored each others mouths with aggressive tongues.  
  
“F-fuck!” Linda moaned. “God, Mark-”  
  
“I know.” He looked around in semi-frustration. “The kids.” He slid his hand over Linda’s belly and up under her halter top, groping one large breast and tweaking the nipple with his fingers. “But Jesus, I want to fuck your brains out!”  
  
The kids had been Linda’s reason for many aborted sexual encounters in the past, though Mark didn’t really hold it against Linda. It was just something they had to get used to. A loud bout of gasping, moaning sex would alert them to the obscene goings-on in the master bedroom, and neither Mark nor Linda was in the mood to be quiet given the situation. “We could get a sitter,” Linda suggested. “My sister.”  
  
They stopped and looked at each other. “You call her,” Mark said, suddenly. “And I’ll make a reservation.”  
  
And so that’s how it happened that he was plowing Linda’s wet pussy on the plush sheets of the Hilton corner suite, with the ice cubes of an unused champagne bucket melting on the night table. They had been fucking for nearly an hour - not  _making love_  but really  _fucking_  - and Linda was working on her seventh or eighth orgasm. Her pussy was absolutely soaked, and the soft, clinging flesh of her channel gripped him like a  second skin as he churned her insides with his long, fat cock. Unencumbered by a lack of privacy, Mark was able to really use his newfound size to fuck Linda as he liked, and make her feel things she’s never felt before.  
  
“Nnngh… keep fucking me!” she gasped, digging her nails into his broad back. “Oh god, I can feel it inside me! Reshaping my pussy!” As if in answer to her call, her twat made a wet, lewd splattery sound as he withdrew and slammed in again, the sound of a passage absolutely soaked with lube and spasming with need. “Nnngh! Oh god, my pussy… it’s so wet! You’re stirring me up! F-fuck! Mark, I love your big fucking  _horse cock_!”  
  
She had been talking dirtier and dirtier as the hour went on, and this refrain came above all else, that he was  _huge_ , that his size was stretching her out and pushing her body to its limits. This was a new experience for Mark, to say the least, and he was both excited by her reactions and, in a strange way, a little hurt. Linda was an absolute firecracker in bed at the moment, but their sex life had been lacking that enthusiasm in the months and years prior.   
  
 _And what changed between then and now_ , Mark thought, as he pounded away at his wanton wife’s slick pussy, which was more tight and responsive than he’d ever remembered before.  _I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count. Is the answer ‘my penis is more than twice as large’? Yes! Give that man a cigar and a hundred-dollar bill to light it with._ And with that came the sting of confused bewilderment. Linda had always said his lack of size didn’t matter to her. Mark had believed her, and figured that their dwindling sex life was just a symptom of growing old together and having three kids. Yet now that his cock was increased, Linda was ready to go and happy to indulge him! So what, had he been chopped liver before? Had she just been lying when she said she didn’t care about his cock size?  
  
He thrust in particularly viciously as he considered this, and Linda uttered a sharp groan. “Nnngh! Mark!” she hissed. “It hurts if you-”  
  
“Sorry,” he said, dutifully, and slowed down to correct course with his thrusts, aiming under and around. Just a month prior, the thought of hurting his wife with his cock would have been laughable. But now, his thrust had banged right into her cervix. He didn’t have to be a gynecologist (or, as Linda herself was, a gynecologist’s assistant) to see how that might sting.   
  
“It’s alright,” she said, and leaned her face into the crook of his neck as she exhaled. “God your fucking cock is so big-”  
  
“You like that?” he breathed, and it was both a question and an accusation.  
  
“Nnngh… I fucking… love it!” Linda gasped, and her hips exploded upward as she came, for what seemed like the tenth time that hour. Her spasming insides gripped Mark and promised to milk his prick to orgasm as well; he hilted himself as deep as he could manage and gasped out his own climax, groaning in her ear.  
  
“You fucking slut!” Mark growled, and the words came out as a surprise, but if Linda objected, her orgasmic gasps did not reveal any complaint. “You fucking… big dick loving bitch!” He felt himself pouring out inside her, shot after shot of sperm so copious it stung his urethra. He had never come so hard in weeks and months prior.  
  
“Nnngh, I swear to god I can feel it!” Linda moaned, burying a hand in his hair as her toes wiggled above his shoulders. “It’s such a huge load!”   
  
Mark did just that, ejaculating for several more seconds before resting briefly with his twitching cock inside her. Linda had never talked so dirty before, talking about big dicks, talking about cum. Again, even in the midst of this enjoyment and great sex, he was forced to ask himself why and what it meant. He rolled off of Linda and lay beside her as they both stared at the ceiling, both totally nude, their inside hands clasping. His belly rose and fell as his breathing slowed down. Both of their bodies were dotted with droplets of sweat.  
  
“Sorry I said that,” Mark ventured. “Calling you a slut.” Old Linda would certainly have objected to such language, but she surprised him again by turning toward him, kissing him, and offering a sated smile.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Linda said. “It’s fine.” She moved her hand from his grasp to below his belly, beginning to fondle his softening, spent penis. It was heavy and thick even flaccid, and looked huge in her hand as she stroked it slowly. With his cock in her grasp, the thought of being called a slut was out of her mind instantly. “Mmm, you made me feel so good.”  
  
 _And what if I called you a fucking bitch, Linda? A cock-sucking piece of shit? Would that still be fine, you fucking cum dump?_  
  
Instead of giving voice to these thoughts, which alarmed him with their viciousness, he kept a pleasant face. He shouldn’t complain, he realized. His wife was giving him the best sex he’d had in years. Hell, maybe ever. She was doing and saying all sorts of things he’d secretly wished for but hadn’t given voice. So what was the point of getting upset?  
  
Linda was squirming and rubbing her thighs together, continuing to stroke his cock mischievously. Her eyes were alight with the libido of a woman fifteen years younger. “Ooh, I can feel it leaking out of me,” she confided, face turned sideways on the pillow of her own long, brown hair. “You shot  _so much_.” From her grin it was clear the idea turned her on.   
  
Mark wasn’t sure exactly what compelled him to do what he did next; perhaps it was a desire to test Linda, to see if her reactions would be as indulgent when things got strange. Plus, he wanted to confide in someone. He had rarely kept secrets from her in their years of marriage. “I actually had an awkward moment the other day,” he ventured.   
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I was just about to get in the shower upstairs and one of Lucia’s friends walked in on me.”  
  
There was a moment of silence between them as Linda’s face processed what this meant. “Walked in on you? You mean-”  
  
“She saw it all. The whole thing.”  
  
Linda seemed to pause and consider this.  _Here it comes_ , thought Mark.  _She’s about to read me the riot act._ But he was wrong. Instead, she only asked another question.  
  
“Well, what happened?”  
  
“Nothing  _happened_ ,” Mark assured her. “She just shut the door quickly and apologized. She had no idea I was in there.”  
  
“And you didn’t hear her coming.”  
  
“No.” The first lie in the story, and one he hoped he was telling with conviction. Now, he was sure more questions would come, but Linda simply gave his penis a light squeeze.  
  
“Hmmph. I bet you got a charge out of that, didn’t you? A sweet young thing like that, seeing this!” She smirked at him, and in spite of himself he felt his cock throb, which only spurred her on further.  
  
“What? No-” he objected, but she was already stroking his cock more deliberately and rolling over on her side to drape her leg over his and press her breasts against his side.  
  
“It’s alright,” she assured him, then cooed as his cock twitched in his hand. “I want you to get hard. I want to fuck again.” She licked her lips and then whispered close to his ear. “You can’t fool me, you know. I’m your wife. I’ve seen the way you look at Lucia’s friends. It’s the redheaded one, isn’t it? The cute one? I think she’s just as pretty as Lucia, don’t you?”  
  
“Lin, jesus!” Mark exclaimed. He was playing it noble but he couldn’t hide the fact that his cock was rapidly becoming diamond hard.  
  
Linda bit his earlobe. “Next time she stays over at the house, maybe we can get her alone,” she whispered, her tongue teasing his flesh as she jerked his long, fat cock.   
  
“Oh, fuck…” he gasped. “Lin, what’s gotten into you?” And as soon as the words left his mouth, he sensed for the first time some anger and confusion in her, similar to what he had been feeling earlier.   
  
“Don’t play stupid with me, Mark,” she said, and her tone was serious. “Your cock is rock hard! You got harder  _right now_ , after having sex for an hour, than you did when we first got here. So don’t act like you don’t like it. Or like you haven’t been fantasizing about it!” She sounded wounded. “As soon as I mentioned it, I felt your prick throb. So don’t you dare act offended-”  
  
“Yeah?” Mark hissed back, showing a little fire of his own. “If you know so much about indulging my fantasies, where was this for the last five years? Or were you just not interested in me up until a couple weeks ago when I started growing?” He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice and could not. They bothy fell silent, looking at each other on the bedspread.  
  
“Mark,” Linda said, after a pause, milking his prick slowly. “It isn’t some big conspiracy. I want to fuck. I’m doing things... that will make you hard.” She leaned in and started to suck lewdly and worshipfully around his nipple, tickling it with her tongue, as she continued her expert handjob. Mark found himself unable to argue any longer. Whatever the genesis behind it, he wanted her to keep talking.  
  
“Alright,” he said.  
  
“I could drug her, you know,” Linda whispered, offering a tipsy smile. “Offer her a drink before bed… laced with some anesthetics from the office.”  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Mark hissed. His mind filled with the idea of Marissa, totally knocked out, his wife opening the door to where she was unconscious, beckoning him in, his cock already hard. And where would Lucia be in that scenario? Surely nearby. Perhaps sleeping. Perhaps-  
  
“That Marissa is a little slut, Mark,” Linda whispered. “She looks like the sort of girl who shaves her pussy bald, don’t you think?”  
  
Mark gulped. He never could have imagined Linda considering such a thing. “Y-yes,” he confirmed, as Linda began to stroke faster, kissing her way down his neck, his chest, toward his cock. She flicked out her tongue and ran it over his pisshole, darting the tip inside and making him moan. He had the perfect view as she slid down the bed and began to orally service him.  
  
“Would you want me to eat out her little 16-year-old pussy to get her wet?” Linda moaned, kissing Mark’s cock crown. “Or would you want to do it dry and really rip her apart?” She kissed down his shaft and came to his balls, which loomed like two big eggs in his hairy-speckled nutsack, next to her mouth. She kissed them reverently, sucking scrotal skin into her mouth and pulling his sack taut, then releasing it to suck first one nut and then the other. Hot, off-white semen began to drip from his pisshole as his cock bulged against his belly.  
  
“Mmm… does it turn you on, having me suck your big balls?” Linda seethed. “I’ll suck them any time, you know. “You can just grab me by the hair when we’re in bed and shove me down under the covers and I’ll take care of you.”  
  
“Fuck, I never knew you could be so nasty,” Mark admitted. He didn’t need to tell he that he liked it, the results were obvious. But at the same time, part of him didn’t like it. Some part of him remembered the Linda who wouldn’t ever stood to doing something so lewd just to get his dick, and felt it was awkward to see her sucking balls, her pert, shapely lips brushing against the hair on his scrotum, his big nuts right in her face. It was something he associated with porn, not his wife.   
  
“You made me cum so many times,” Linda confided. “I just want to take care of you, Mark. I want to do the nastiest shit you could want.” Her voice was both nasty and affectionate, though Mark had the queer impression she was addressing his cock rather than him. “If it’s what you want… I’ll be a nasty slut for you in bed.”  
  
“How nasty?” he teased, and Linda licked her lips and gathered his nutsack into a big pile and started sucking wetly, loudly, blowing his big, ovoid testicles like they were dicks, hollowing her cheeks out and sucking, slurping, smacking while looking at him with half-lidded eyes. Soon, his shaft and nuts were totally covered in her spit.  
  
“Fuck, that feels amazing,” he admitted. There was something about having his balls sucked that made him feel like a king, a sultan with a room full of concubines. It was like she was worshiping him, a much different dynamic than their usual. For the second time that day, Mark felt his confidence surge and his body fill with a sort of euphoria. First he had humiliated Ted Krieg, and now, his wife was willing to do things he’d never imagined possible.  
  
All because he was bigger.  
  
She pressed her palms against his thighs, bidding him lift his legs up in the air and hold them there like an overturned turtle. He knew what she wanted, it was written all over her face. Linda had meant it when she said she would do anything. “Oh, fuck,” Mark groaned, and he pulled his legs up by gripping himself behind the knees. This exposed him in what would have ordinarily been a very embarrassing way. He felt excitement and disgust as Linda gripped his butt cheeks and exposed him even more, before tucking her face down below his balls beginning to lap at his asshole.  
  
He hissed with pleasure as he felt her hot, wet tongue start to probe his anus. Linda was doing something he never would have thought her capable of, and doing it lovingly and worshipfully, making cooing noises of consumption as she gasped her hot breaths all over his ass. Her tongue traced around his hole and moistened it before she took a breath and pressed even closer, massaging his asscheeks with her palms as she snaked her tongue inside.  
  
Mark gasped and his cock began to leak pre-cum all over his belly as Linda serviced him. It was something he would have been too shy to ask for, too afraid of reproach, and yet she was doing it of her own volition. He was both revolted and more turned on than he had ever been. _You fucking nasty slut_ , he thought.  _You act like you’re doing me a favor with a little dirty talk, but look what you’re willing to do just to get me hard and ready for another round of fucking._  He looked at Linda’s eyes as she gazed at him over the twin orbs of his ballsack; they were half-lidded, nasty, whores eyes.  
  
“Mmm,” Linda said, withdrawing her tongue with a smack. “You taste so fucking good, Mark. This is what I’m going to do for you, on the night I drug Lucia’s cute little friend and give her to you. I’m going to suck your asshole, so you get hard enough to really wreck that little slut’s pussy!” She dove back in and this time she was actually sucking his ass, sealing her lips wide around his hole and sucking, hollowing her cheeks out with the vacuum, wiggling her tongue against the walls of his bowels.   
  
 _It’s like being a king_ , Mark thought.  _This is what they don’t tell you about emperors and concubines in the history books. All the times the big cheese had young girls come into his chambers and utterly degrade themselves, and suck his ass and balls before he threw them out like trash._  
  
The sensation, combined with her nasty expression and words, as too much for Mark to bear.  
  
“Oh… fuck… Lin… I’m gonna fucking cum!” he gasped, and she instantly and reverently moved her mouth up from his spit-soaked asshole to the tip of his cock, crawling up his body and opening wide to lower her head onto it. He could not resist grabbing her hair and holding her in place as he unloaded into her mouth with a load that was almost as copious as the one he had shot just minutes earlier. He held her in place and sprayed into her, feeling the jets of sperm blast out of his dick and all over her teeth and tongue and throat. He did not worry about whether she could breathe - he only thought of those half-lidded eyes, the way her mouth had elongated as she sucked his asshole like a shit-eating whore - and could not muster a care for her well-being in that moment.  
  
When he finished and pulled her mouth off, she seemed delirious, chewing the mouthful of cum and showing it to him with a nasty expression. Mark saw with mixed arousal and disgust that she had two long, curly pubic hairs on her mouth, zigzagging from her lips to her cheek… and at least two more hairs in the mouthful of cum itself. Linda gargled the cum in her mouth and made it bubble. Her lips and chin were covered with spit and the sweat from his asshole.  _This_  was his wife?  
  
Linda chewed slowly at the load, swirling it her mouth, making sure he could see the fat whitish-yellow curds and the pubic hairs… and then swallowed it, her shapely throat gulping once, twice, three times before her throat was clear. She opened her mouth to show him it was all gone. “Mmm, thanks for feeding me,” she purred, and then seemed to notice the pubic hair on the side of her mouth and gathered it between two fingers, picking it up… and then dropping it into her mouth and swallowing it again.   
  
Mark was speechless. He was almost frightened by how slutty she was being… and frightened by how much he liked it… or at least, part of him did. She leaned down and kissed one of his balls reverently. “God I love your fucking cock,” she said, breathily. It was with the tone of someone having a religious conversion. “I would do anything, Mark - I don’t care how nasty it is. I… I want to see you rape Lucia’s friends. I want to hold that little redhead down and put duct tape over her mouth and watch you… watch you hurt her. Wreck her with your big thing until she fucking loves you as much as I do.”  
  
Despite cumming seconds earlier, Mark’s cock was again hard as a diamond. “You’d really do anything?” he asked. He was thinking about Lucia. Lucia’s panties. Lucia’s perfect teen bubble-butt that seemed to defy gravity, those twin bronze globes that he so often observed laying out by the pool.  
  
“Anything,” Linda moaned. She kissed his cockhead again. “Anything, Mark. Just tell me and I’ll do it.”  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
“What if it wasn’t Marissa I wanted?” Mark asked, his heart beating a mile a minute. Linda bit her bottom lip in what he hoped as anticipation. “What if I wanted-”  
  
The bedside phone rang, startling them both and perhaps shaking them out of whatever trance had caused them to explore such dangerous territory. “We told them not to disturb us,” Mark said, grumpily. They each realized they had not checked their cellphones since arriving. Mark had shut his ringer off, not wanting calls from the office. Linda must have done the same. But if someone had gone through the trouble of calling the hotel desk-  
  
“It must be an emergency,” Linda said, and she crawled over Mark to pick up the phone. Held it to her ear. Listened. Her face went from concern to surprise. “Are you sure?” she said. This piqued Mark’s interest. Something had happened. His mind instantly went to the old Haitian woman and the many protestors and vigil-holders who seemed to threaten him with their very presence. They had already staked out his office… maybe now they had gone to his home. Maybe they weren’t content with laying wreaths or leaving flowers or putting up “In Memory” posters anymore. Maybe they had decided to that a little vandalism or arson was in order.  
  
“What is it?” he prompted Linda. She promised the person on the other end of the line that she and Mark would be home right away, and then put down the receiver.  
  
“That was my sister,” Linda said, her face strained. “She says Katie is bleeding. She’s menstruating for the first time.”


	7. 11"

_Per the attached report, the earnings of the fund are within projected_  
  
Mark Ottman blew a frustrated breath out through his mouth. He had thought working from home would allow him to keep his focus, and had the IT department set up a laptop with the VPN necessary to utilize the office trading environment. But he wasn’t getting any more work done, even without the distraction of the Peterson Jean-Baptiste memorial outside his office window. (As of the previous week, it had still been receiving fresh flowers and sidewalk chalk messages of support, and he found himself glancing out his window more and more, sure that he would see  _her_  there, the old Haitian woman who had grabbed his prick outside the courthouse.)  
  
Home was supposed to be more comfortable, less high-pressure, with more ability to see his family. He would work from home a couple of days a week, he reasoned, and regain the life balance that had seemed out of whack since the whole strange business started. But now the single line of his email stared back at him with accusatory starkness.   
  
 _You’re supposed to update the investors and you haven’t done jack shit,_  it said.  _So much for productivity. You better get your shit together, Mark - with all the craziness around the house, you can’t afford to add to the drama by flaking out on your job._  
  
This one line was all the fund management he had been able to achieve in two hours that morning. Instead, he found himself surfing the internet (no porn - not with the laptop connected to the company trading network - and Mark didn’t know enough about the software to figure out if IT could see his browsing or not), drumming his fingers, taking short walks, having snacks, and generally doing everything  _but_  working. The problem, he realized, was simple. The fund did not interest him. Not in that moment, with a dozen different crazy things happening in his life.  
  
Katie getting her period, for example. At first Mark had been utterly shocked, but Linda assured him that while it was early - Katie would be turning 9 in less than a month - it wasn’t totally unheard of for girls to start that young. After a brief period of adjustment and having the facts explained, Katie actually seemed to be pleased to be ahead of the curve, ridiculous as it sounded when she told her sister Lucia that she could make babies now, and, indeed, she intended to make a baby faster than Lucia could. (When Kevin remarked that Katie would need a boy to make a baby, Katie said she would go out and find one.) Linda then had to make the case that randomly finding boys and asking them to make babies was not appropriate for a young girl. And when Linda made Katie an initiate in the strange world of hygiene products, pads, and other period trappings, Mark’s male brain immediately glossed over the details.  
  
But he was still spooked. He had seen the bed where Katie started bleeding (while napping in the evening, apparently) and it looked like a stabbing had occurred there. No wonder Linda’s sister had been alarmed and called them at the hotel! Yet Linda again, assured him that while this bleeding was heavy, it wasn’t totally abnormal. He tried to listen to her - she was the nurse practitioner, after all, and gynecologists assistant.  
  
Other areas were rocky at home as well. Linda and Lucia were not speaking to each other, since Lucia asked for permission to stay overnight in another city in order to attend a concert, and was shut down at once. The argument had happened at dinner, with Linda saying that  _Lucia would overnight over her dead body, she knew the drugs and dangers that flew around at those concerts, that the music was nothing but sexually-explicit filth anyway_. Lucia countered that  _Linda was just old, that she was jealous because she never got to do anything so cool when she was a kid, she didn’t understand the music, and that it was perfectly safe and she could call the hotel room to check in whenever she wanted if she was so worried_.  
  
Mark, Katie and Kevin watched the back-and-forth with eyes wide as saucers. When Lucia turned to Mark and said “Tell her she’s just being paranoid, dad!”, Mark had balked at saying anything, which drew both of their wrath - Linda because she had expected him to back  _her_  up, and Lucia because his silence wasn’t helping her case. Their faces, in similar states of blond-streaked, high-cheekboned pissed-offedness separated by a generation, were hot with anger.  
  
  
“You’re not going and that’s final,” Linda snapped, adding, “And I don’t believe that Marissa’s mother would have signed off on something like this. I’m not going to have a bunch of 17-year-old girls off in a hotel room, by themselves, two hours from any adult!”  
  
At that point, Lucia rose from the table, her plaid-skirted thighs nearly striking the edge, and uttered the dreaded F-word, which no child is supposed to say to their parents. Mark, finally out of his paralysis, told her to apologize to her mother. She refused. Katie pointed and accused Lucia of saying a bad word. And Lucia, refusing to apologize, cried out that her mom and dad both treated her like a child when she was an independant young woman, and now they were ruining her social life. She then stomped off.  
  
Since then, things had been on ice. Lucia and Linda simply ignored each other; and though Linda was upset with him for being so weak to her defense, he had straightened that out by giving her a good, hard dicking that night. (Even this was a mix of satisfying and irksome; much fun as it was to solve a marital argument with sex, seeing Linda’s anger evaporate and her mood change to one of indulgence, like his cock was a magic wand, still seemed strange.)  
  
His cock was still growing, too. He hadn’t measured, but the feel of it, laying heavy in his boxers, made it clear. Erections were harder to hide or pass off as folds in clothing. If he got one while sitting, he literally couldn’t get up and walk to the washroom if someone was around - it was far too obvious. And erections were happening more often. His train of thought seemed liable at any moment to indulge in lewd flights of fancy, sometimes about Linda (who had taken to wearing yoga pants almost every day, and bending over the countertop at breakfast), sometimes about Lucia’s friend Marissa, sometimes about girls at the office.   
  
That wasn’t all. Though it was only 11:30 AM, he could smell himself - his crotch had a musky, sweaty odor that reminded him of how he might get after 16-18 hours in a hot office… not after two in a fresh pair of underwear. The dick smell was constant and he was sure that if his family was around and occupying the same room as him, they might smell it too. He  _had_  showered that morning but it didn’t seem to matter. And similarly, when he would shake his dick off after taking a leak, more and more often, several long, kinky brown pubic hairs would appear on the white porcelain, looking like something out of  _Teen Wolf_.  
  
Mark pushed back from the desk. He was in the den - a spare room of the house that didn’t get used for much, and which he had converted into an office. There was nothing in it but a computer chair, a desk, some old sports equipment in a corner, several filing boxes, and a rack holding a wireless router and cables. He looked at the barren walls forlornly and wished there was a nice cheesecake calender somewhere - the sort of thing with some soaped-up fitness models scrubbing down a sports car with their huge tits. He looked down to his computer and decided whether to take the plunge with some porn. The house was empty, but again, the computers used for work were ultra-tight with security. The VPN connected as soon as he booted the computer and he didn’t know how to disable it.  
  
“Fuck me,” Mark grumbled, and felt down the inside of his thigh, where his fat dick was throbbing in the midst of an uncomfortable erection. He could sense his balls laying on the chair’s edge, throbbing faintly.  
  
 _I just need to bust a nut_ , he decided.  _I need to jerk off, get this nonsense out of my head, and then I can focus on work._ Could he call Linda at the office and get her to come home? No, such an idea was nonsense. Not did he have magazines or more conventional, non-digital porn around the house. He could use his cellphone, but that had the risk of being investigated by Linda at some point, and the screen was cracked. (A holdover from the car accident, actually.)  
  
Mark Ottman made a decision. There was one other desktop computer in the house - in the room of his son, Kevin. He would use that to look up some porn, and then, without the threat of an IT department stalking his every digital move, erase his steps as best he could. He knew how to delete a browser history, and it would be enough. Kevin would never check.  
  
As he rose from his desk with this cock raising his slacks like a mast beneath the sail of his pleats, Mark felt the voice of doubt about his behavior, a sobering feeling that seemed to be showing up more often of late.  _What you’re doing is wildly inappropriate_ , it said.  _Jerking off to porn in your son’s room? Is that how far you’ve sunk?_ He shoved the feeling aside and opened the door to Kevin’s room, realizing that he hadn’t actually looked into it in some time. Months, maybe years.  
  
The space inside told the tale of a teenage boy, for the most part. A laundry basket partway full. A desk with PC tower and monitor, plus a rather fancy ‘gaming chair’ with the words RapidX on the multi-colored leather. To Mark it looked like the paint job on a stock car, but Kevin had asked for the chair for Christmas last year and he hadn’t objected. The desk was mostly clear; there were sticky notes in a couple places with messages Mark couldn’t understand, lacking any context, they might as well have been hieroglyphics. The bed, navy blue sheets with a silver stripe across near the headboard, was haphazardly made, but it  _was_  made. Peeking out from underneath was a foot locker. Mark knew what was in it - it was Kevin’s ‘junk drawer’, and contained everything from batteries to books to handheld gaming systems. The foot locker was plastered with stickers representing a dozen different Japanese cartoon characters, none of which Mark recognized. His experience with anime started and ended with the Sailor Moon reruns that Katie sometimes watched.  
  
Mark looked around with something like pride. Kevin’s room really was quite clean - he could do a lot worse for a son. His cock throbbed insistently and he looked at the computer screen, which was dark. Yet from the sound of the CPU fans, he could tell the machine was on and waiting.  
  
He probably has it password protected anyway, Mark decided. He walked to the light wooden desk and reached out for the mouse, hoping it was true so he wouldn’t be further tempted to invade his son’s privacy. Really, what he was doing wasn’t just sordid masturbation but also voyeurism, and snooping. All at once he badly wanted to turn around and leave.  
  
The screen opened up and he saw Kevin’s desktop. Icons and folders with names of games he vaguely recognized. A folder called “School Work”. Google Chrome. Nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
 _Just turn around and leave_ , he urged himself again.  _Go jerk off in your own bedroom. Use your imagination. Hell, give Linda a call and see if she can swing by on her lunch, if you have to._  
  
Yet against the voice of this conscience, he persisted, grabbing the mouse and ordering the computer to do a search for video files on the hard drive. He knew even as he did this that this was an old man’s way of searching for porn; everything Kevin could want was online now. He and Linda had investigated installing parental monitoring software that would allow them to set limits on content or hours of internet use; in the end, they decided it was better to simply teach their kids healthy habits and let the chips fall where they may.  
  
And look at what you’re doing now, that guilty voice nagged him. Real nice parenting.  
  
He didn’t expect to find anything - searching a hard drive for random video files was an ancient way of finding porn from the glory days of his youth in the early 1990’s. The file explorer immediately filled up with benign items. Things from internet browser caches, their names incomprehensible. Files from the games Kevin played. He was just about to stop the search when a number of files popped up with similar names.  
  
NyaanCutieDildo1  
NyaanCutieFootWorship  
NyaanCutieBadDragon  
  
They were medium-sized video files. The thumbnails showed what was unmistakably a nice, round ass in a pair of tight-fitting, colorful panties. To his own guilty revulsion, Mark felt a surge of excitement and a twinge in his over-large johnson. He unbuttoned his fly and let himself emerge, immediately smelling the hot scent of sex emanating from his half-hard meat. It seemed his teenage son had a few ‘special items’ stashed on the computer after all.  
  
The file location was D://Program Files/Steam/Seekrits/Nyaaaaaaaa. Wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, and sparing his son’s room a furtive, doubtful glance (as if the fixtures and posters were watching him with disapproval), Mark clicked the first video and was immediately dismayed as loud sounds of shuffling on a bed began playing from the speakers. He rushed to turn them down as he watched the screen, which was showing a round, pale, fair-skinned, bubbly ass in a pair of panties; white with playful horizontal blue stripes. Nothing more of the cam model could be seen but a bit of the lower back, which was just as milky-skinned and graceful as the big, round booty!  
  
Mark bit his lower lip. This wasn’t some professionally made smut but rather a piece of homemade amateur porn, and the girl in question couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old… not with a tight, perfect ass like that. Hell, she was probably only eighteen. He felt an absurd sense of pride that his son certainly knew how to pick ‘em, and then he heard a voice on the video.  
  
The model wiggled her hips and began lowering the panties down over that round, gravity-defying booty. It was so perfect in its spherical shape that the fabric of the panties cut in slightly against the cheeks, causing them to pour out of the confines; an effect magnified as the waistband was brought lower and lower to reveal more flawless ass-meat. Those ass-mounds didn’t seem to have even the tiniest imperfection, and though the angle was such that Mark couldn’t see much else, he was absolutely enthralled. What an ass! It was smaller and tighter than his wife Linda’s, more similar to his daughter Lucia’s. He felt his balls tingle and pre-cum begin to drip from his pisshole and smear on his knuckle as he slowly stroked. It was like Lucia’s, but still different - Lucia had a rather fit, athletic behind, this one was… softer. Like a pair of big ol’ marshmallow orbs, perfectly shaped and ready for him to sink his fingers into!  
  
The model slid the waistband down over her cheeks with agonizing slowness, letting it dig into her flesh before the next bit was revealed and seemed to pour out over the top. She had her thighs spread enough that her asshole came lewdly into view, peeking out with absolutely flawless, enticing pinkness. His cock throbbed brutally at the thought of sliding his entire length into that hot, inviting shitter. It looked simultaneously tight and also a bit puffy, like it had taken some big dicks and toys before and could stretch a little - something the dildo-related video title seemed to foreshadow. Mark’s fapping picked up speed as he leered at the screen like a gargoyle and the panties continued to come down.   
  
Then, the model on screen let out a giggle. The panties had been lowered further to reveal not a wet and inviting teenage pussy but a tight pair of pink, smooth balls!  
  
“What the fuck?!” Mark grunted. He stopped jerking and his libido became momentarily confused at the revelation. It seemed impossible that a male could have an ass like the one he was looking at, and yet-  
  
“Mmm, thanks for the $200 tip, OtakuMan,” came the model’s voice, and it was very feminine, but combined with the visual evidence, Mark realized it was just a male model, putting on a rather feathery, female-like affectation. “This video is just for you!” The model, who Mark now was forced to think about as a  _he_ , reached behind and lewdly spread himself… making that asshole wink at the camera.   
  
Mark felt his dick throb. He was at a crossroads. On one hand, he had just discovered that his son Kevin was perusing some rather gay porn. He had a whole collection of these NyaanCutie videos on his computer. He again felt voyeur’s guilt. On the other hand, he would have to be a pretty big hypocrite to criticize Kevin for watching such things, since his own enormous cock was still  _rock hard_  at the sight of that round, femmy boi-ass!   
  
 _Fuck it_ , he decided. Jerking off to some trap porn wasn’t his proudest moment, and he certainly wouldn’t tell Linda about it, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. His cock was begging for release, and the only hot JO-worthy ass available happened to belong to a sissy cam model. He started jerking again as NyaanCutie clambered away from the camera and leaned sideways to grab something from out of frame… an extremely large horse-shaped dildo with all manner of bumps, ridges and spikes surrounding the flange and along the shaft.  
  
“Holy shit,” he muttered. Was NyaanCutie really going to take that ass-destroyer in his perfect, puffy-pink boi-shitter? Hell, it was even larger than Mark’s raging boner, looking to be a foot or more from base to tip, and as thick as his wrist!   
  
“Mmm, I want you to destroy my little ass-pussy, OtakuMan!” NyaanCutie chirped, and turned to face the camera, taking a kneeling-on-bed frontal pose for the first time. Mark’s eyes widened.  
  
 _She - I mean he_ -  _is beautiful_ , he was forced to admit. NyaanCutie was wearing a black surgical mask with a pink cat skull-and-crossbones on it, obscuring his face, but it still hinted at high, elfin cheekbones and pouty lips that made Mark feel things about another male he scarcely could have fathomed just fifteen minutes earlier. The idea that a man, like him, would subject himself to being a dressed-up, dolled-up sex object was tawdry to him; he immediately felt the same way about NyaanCutie that me might feel, in his darkest fantasies, about really slutty girls - that there were putting themselves out there to be fucked like whores, that they were sluts, that it was a fucking disgrace. The fact that NyaanCutie was a guy and still whoring his pouty boy mouth and round ass out made it all the more lewd, and Mark found himself hard as a diamond.  
  
 _You need some cum on your face you little bubble-butt bitch_ , he thought, alarming himself at first at his animalistic lust to degrade a non-woman but quickly growing comfortable with the idea. NyaanCutie’s striking green eyes were contact lenses and her hair was a flamboyant wig in cyberpunk neon pink, but so much of her was real and unadulterated - the long, smooth torso with just a tiny hint of pectoral and abdominal definition, the puffy pink nips, the adonis lines leaning down to his absolutely hairless cock. Mark was suddenly certain that NyaanCutie couldn’t be much older than eighteen… and god… that horse dildo was going to absolutely wreck his bitch-boi ass! He found himself eager to see it, and even imagining himself in the dildo’s place.  
  
“Mmm, I need some cum!” NyaanCutie meowed, and held up her hands into a heart-shape before demonstrating that the black, rubber horse dong was connected to a tube and syringe that was filled with white goo. It seemed the dildo was the sort that could ejaculate. This excited Mark even more.   
  
 _What’s going on,_ he thought, distantly. _You’ve never been interested in stuff like this. Your cock is messing with your brain. If this is what it’s like for guys with really high sex drives, then you need to opt out, pal. You need to get a grip. You’re in your son’s room, invading his privacy and browsing his gay porn. And instead of contemplating the fact that your son might be in the closet, you skipped right to jacking off. Your priorities are fucked up and you really need to get a grip._  
  
Mark was getting a grip alright - on his cock. He knew instinctively that the warning in his mind had the ring of truth, but he absolutely couldn’t resist jacking off… it felt too good and NyaanCutie was just too enticing, leaning forward toward the big dildo and rubbing his cute face against it, making purring sounds, before placing it beneath him and standing up on the navy-blue bedspread, showing off cute, small feet in ankle socks, squatting and preparing to lower his ass onto the toy, which he prepared with a generous helping of lube.  
  
All of a sudden he wanted very badly to pump a fat load up cum deep into NyaanCutie’s ass. “Fuck, you little faggot,” he murmured, biting his lip in spite of himself and jacking his long, fat cock over the keyboard. “I bet you take a lot of cum in your fucking face, don’t you? I bet you suck a lot of dick at school.” The boy was such a cross-dressing little bitch that it actually angered him; he was a little cocksucker no doubt, and in that moment Mark very badly wanted to have the boy down in front of him so he could show the little sissy the facts of life, no horse dildo needed, he had ten inches of meat more than ready to do the job and tear that bitch-boi ass up. A john named OtakuMan had paid NyaanCutie $200 for the video, a tidy sum, but with his bonus from work, Mark had hundreds of thousands to spare - more than enough to make NyaanCutie’s ass and throat his personal property. He would cum on his cute face and shove hundred dollar bills into his pouty-lipped little mouth! He would-  
  
Mark blinked and then narrowed his eyes, tilting his head toward the screen. Over NyaanCutie’s shoulder as he poised his moist, lubed-up, perfect-and-pink asshole at the edge of the dildo was an anime poster, showing what appeared to be a man in a flamboyant duster, wielding a large pistol. “TRIGUN”, it read, in large block letters.  
  
Mark turned his head to the left and looked up and to the right of Kevin’s bed. The same poster was on the wall.  
  
“What the fuck?” he muttered. He looked down to the bedspread - navy blue with a silver over the pillows near the headboard. He looked back at the NyaanCutie video as he mewling boy slowly began to lower his bubble ass onto that fat horse prong, stretching out his puffy anus and letting the flanged, spiked head fuck up his tender insides while he gasped and moaned like a little bitch.   
  
Navy blue bedspread. Silver stripe on the pillows.  
  
“What the FUCK?” he exclaimed again. He was right on the edge of orgasm, but the revelation was impossible to ignore. The video he was watching had been made in this very room! His son’s room! On his son’s bed!   
  
“No,” he said. “No, no way!”   
  
His son Kevin  _was_  NyaanCutie.  
  
“No WAY!” Mark rasped. On the screen, NyaanCutie mewled out in a sissy groan as six inches of arm-thick dildo  _ripped_  into his asshole. His smooth, hairless pink cock and tight balls hung with impotent half-hardness.   
  
 _It’s impossible, right? Kevin doesn’t have a body like this._ His mind, trying to find an escape hatch, found none, only replying:  _Are you sure?_  
  
He traced back through his memories. Linda at the dinner table, running her hand through Kevin’s neck-length chestnut brown hair with pride, joking with him: “Why couldn’t you have hair like this?” Kevin blushing at his mother’s compliment. Those cheekbones, which he’d never paid any heed before, seeming more prominent in his memory.  
  
Kevin trying out for the wrestling team. A red-faced coach with a silver whistle on a shoelace lanyard, giving a frank assessment at the first meet. “Kevin has a good base, good hips. But he has to work on his upper body.” Nodding over to Kevin in his singlet, with that same scrawny, graceful upper body.  _Good base. Good hips._  Ie.  _Your son doesn’t have much manly muscle but he has one hell of a bubble butt._ Kevin losing and getting pinned by another boy who was humping him all over the mat, the image taking on a whole new meaning.  
  
Another memory. Linda taking Kevin to the shoe store. Kevin taking a size six as he started high school and then a size six every year after. Small for a boy his age. He thought back to the name of the second video. NyaanCutie foot worship. Linda talking about how Kevin was going to be popular with the girls “in a few years”.   
  
 _He’s only sixteen. He’s pimping himself out on video to a bunch of horny perverts_ , his mind screamed. But he couldn’t look away from what was unfolding on the monitor. NyaanCutie’s bubble butt was taking every inch of that fat horse pipe! Those round bubble-butt cheeks were split apart and the inflamed pink anal ring was stretched around the girth as he dropped his cute, femmy hips all the way down and took a foot of rubbery animal dick all the way in his bowels. “Nnnngh!” he moaned. “Nyaaaan! I love getting my ass  _fucked_  by big dicks! I want your load!”  
  
And this time, he could hear it. A boy’s voice playing the part of a sissy girl, the affectation changed dramatically, like playing the opposite sex in a school play, but unmistakable for all that. It was Kevin’s voice, no doubt.  
  
“Empty your...big balls… in my teenage ass! Nyaa!” NyaanCutie moaned, and sunk all the way down on the dildo, reaching forward to press the plunger on the cum syringe. There was a gurgling sound as a quart of thick, nasty fake cum blew into his sissy guts, immediately starting to leak back out around the shaft. NyaanCutie fell forward to a doggy position, revealing his feet in those cute socks, toes wriggling, the fat dildo jammed in her his ass. “Nyaaa! I love it when older guys fill me up with cum!”  
  
“Kevin, you… little faggot!” Mark growled. In spite of everything he was still stroking his dick. The voyeurism, the absolutely tawdry and forbidden revelation, the debauchery on screen - it was too much. As NyaanCutie aka. Kevin sprayed a watery load down between his legs from his smooth, pink cock, shitting out that long black horse dildo and spraying a fat creampie after it, Mark gritted his teeth and unloaded all over the computer monitor. He was too stuck in the throes of ecstasy to even care where he was aiming, and hosed down the image of his sissy son’s well-fucked, cum-burping anus as the video came to a close and paused on a frame of NyaanCutie pulling his round, soft butt cheeks apart and leaking out another gout of semen over his balls and dick, which were piled below in a sated drift. By the time Mark was done, the monitor was so streaked with semen that the video was barely visible.  
  
He collapsed into Kevin’s computer chair, barely fitting into the thing, his dick still dripping chunky, thick semen down his own shaft. The monitor was so cum-blasted it looked like a modern art masterpiece, and Marks’ heart was beating a mile-a-minute. He felt numb and exhausted. As it happened, Kevin’s desk featured both a box of Kleenex and a digital clock. He would have to make liberal use of one before too much time elapsed on the other. He would have to cover his tracks. Some of his cum had landed on Kevin’s keyboard, he would have to clean that.  
  
After a moment’s rest, he began to tend to clean, dutifully, regardless of the million questions spinning in his mind. He felt clearheaded and sharp for the first time that day; his cock, fat and happy and relieved after a morning of dominating his thoughts, was finally silent.


	8. 12 1/2

When Lucia came into his office in her bikini, it was 4:15 PM and Mark was already mentally fried. He’d left work early again and stopped by the Schooner, a bar often frequented by the traders at his company, for a string of cocktails. The cocktails were to calm his nerves… and to make him forget.   
  
The day had been irksome from the start. He was late to work because Linda had insisted on sex in the morning… his first memory upon waking was her hands slowly stroking his cock and balls. She told him that all their fucking was making her feel like she was back in college. When Mark balked, she ‘convinced him’ with some slow, sloppy morning head, making sizzling eye contact while his prong tip bulged in her cheek, forcing it out into a dome shape before receding again, over and over. When she jacked and admired the foot-long, throbbing meat and whispered naughtily that she knew what he wanted to do to Lucia’s friends, it was enough to get him to throw her over and give her the business.  
  
He’s wanted to fuck, yes. But he also wanted to rid himself of the image of her wet, lip-licking, nasty mouth, so at odds with the Linda that everyone else knew from her public appearances. Her nastiness sickened Mark and turned him on at the same time. He turned his head to the side while plowing her pussy, digging into her. When she came and moaned unspeakable things into his ear, he was satisfied, but also glad it was over.  
  
At work, he’d barely settled into his seat before being called into the office of Kirk Bennett, the Senior Fund Manager. The conversation had been good-natured enough but alarming all the same. A smiling Kirk, in his thousand-dollar suit, sat across from Mark and said he’d heard about the prank Mark had pulled on the new secretary.  
  
Mark simply blinked and stared back with confusion. He had pulled no prank, and he wasn’t even sure who the ‘new’ secretary was - there were three or four new people in his area of the office who he assumed were fairly new hires. He barely remembered their names.  
  
“That was a good one, Mark. The trouble is,” Kirk had said, pulling a cigar out of the box on his desk and running it under his nose with disaffected authority, “she took it to HR. Now we’re going to try to calm her down. Give her some outplacement to another office if she wants it. But I think the poor girl just wants to fit in-”  
  
“Kirk,” Mark said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Kirk snuffled with laughter. “Sure, sure. Look, you can play it that way if you want. Safer, maybe,” he said, still with that smile on his face, the one that said he and Mark were buddies, even though Kirk made twenty times what Mark did in a given year, had a private parking space, private office, and private bathroom, and they only said hello to each other and made small talk at company functions. At the last one, Kirk had called Mark’s wife Linda “Laura” for the better part of two hours. “But,” Kirk went on, “That was taking it a little too far. Because of the sexual connotation.”  
  
Mark’s face must have given away that he was mystified, for Kirk grew a bit more serious for the first time. “You don’t know what prank I’m talking about? How many of these stunts have you pulled?”  
  
“None!” Mark blurted.  
  
“Well Wendy Wexler says you walked out in front of her desk with something stuffed down your pants,” Kirk said. He looked around the papers on his desk. “I have the actual HR report quote her somewhere.” When he found it, he read it out like a court stenographer reading back testimony:  
  
 _“He asked me if the fund status reporting had been mailed. He had something in his pants, that looked like a very large erection, a sausage or a sock or something, a tube-like object. I didn’t answer him right away so he stood at my desk. The object in his pants was right at my eye level and he stood there and presented it in what seemed like a threatening manner.”_  
  
Kirk looked over the top of the paper at Mark. “Sound familiar?”  
  
Mark’s stomach was a roiling pit of nerves and embarrassment. He had been so careful! He tended to stay seated at his desk, and even if he had to go outside of his office door, if his cock was hard (a more and more frequent occurrence during the day) he carried a velise or briefcase in front of his pants. Had it somehow shifted in his hand? Had he misjudged the angle? He tried to remember which of the many secretaries in the office was Wendy Wexler and couldn’t at first. Then he realized which girl it was - one of the newer ones. Shy, long blonde hair. An eye-candy type, but not flirtatious. Prim. Young, too. Probably still a college student. The sick coincidence was that this Wendy looked, in some ways, similar to his daughter Lucia.   
  
 _Or maybe it isn’t such a coincidence,_  Mark thought.  _Christ._  
  
When Bennett finally let Mark go - with an official reprimand that would go in his file just for liability reasons, and a warning to knock off the horseplay in the office - Mark felt unreality and dismay wash over him. He couldn’t remember the incident, and that was bad-  _not remembering_ was a symptom of losing control. He walked to the rear window of his office and stared out, his eyes naturally going to the remembrance shrine for Peterson J.B that had been there every day since the incident. The flowers were fresh. So fresh, the bouquet wrapping was spotless and the message card inside it was undisturbed by the wind.  
  
Suddenly he very badly didn’t want to be at the office. He told his secretary ( _not_  Wendy Wexler, thank goodness) that he was going to work from home for the afternoon, and made his way out through the cubicles, holding his briefcase carefully in front of his pants the entire time. It was like he could feel the entire office pecker-checking him, and again he had to remind himself to stay rational and keep his cool.  
  
He called a car service and waited in the underground lot. He had stopped using cabs or Uber - he didn’t feel like talking. And he could expense the service on the company books. All was proceeding as normal, but then while pulling out of the parking garage, hand extended to collect a parking pass from the toll machine, his driver leaned out of the front window to speak to someone who was passing in front on the sidewalk.  
  
After a moment, Mark realized it was  _her_.  
  
The old, withered Haitian woman who had copped his joint on the courthouse steps. The one who had whispered in his ear with her cigarette-filthy breath: “Bigger.” She was crossing in front of the parking garage exit, and as soon as he became aware of her, she locked eyes with him, as if she could sense him. All of his uncertainty and his frustrations in recent weeks seemed to come to a focal point.  
  
He got out of the car. “Give me a minute,” he said to the driver. He walked up the exit ramp and confronted her on the sidewalk - a foot taller, easily twice as heavy. His face was red with frustration but she showed no agitation herself, simply boring into Mark was a gaze of black contempt from which no light of mercy could escape.  
  
“You not drivin’ yourself no more,” she croaked at him, her voice contemptuous. “That’s good. You won’t hurt nobody that way. No big car no more.” Her voice was even more exotic and papery than he remembered it. He thought perhaps she was dying, that perhaps she had only a few months left. She had a colored kerchief drawn tight over her head but it wasn’t enough to hide the fact that her white hair was thinning. Her gums were discolored, her eyes showing milky cataracts.  
  
Mark stooped his face near hers. “Why are you doing it?” he hissed, stopping just short of shaking the old bat’s arm. “The flowers and the pictures? The accident was  _nowhere_  near here and you don’t _live near here_ , so why are you doing it?” He took a deep breath.  
  
“Because you t’ink you get away easy,” the woman replied, her black eyes narrowing. “But you not get away so easy, big man. Big important man. Your work follow you ‘dis time.” The corner of her mouth curled up into a twisted smile. “Da judge say you free, but I give you a little sump’ting maybe no judge can take off.”  
  
This time Mark did grab her arm. It was bone-light, seeming like dried leather inside her shawl. Under his thumb he could feel the protrusion of some sort of growth or melanoma on her elbow, it made his skin crawl. “You didn’t do shit. My life is better than ever, you understand? I’m having the best sex of my life. My wife is doing stuff in bed I could have only dreamed of three months ago. My confidence is higher. If this is some sort of voodoo fuckin’ curse, you need to work on your technique, you understand?”  
  
The woman threw back her head and laughed. “Ha! You gettin’ what you want t’en. You a big shot and you got a big t’ing.” Her face blackened quickly, and her arm went to his wrist, holding his grip on her elbow. For the second time, he was astounded by how  _strong_  she was. “But you gonna get more t’an you want, big man,” she said. “You gonna get so much you  _beg me_  to take it off.”  
  
“Cut the shit,” said. “What happened to that kid was an accident. You  _know_  that. Maybe my lawyer was an asshole about it, but that’s not my fault. So just let it fuckin’ go. Put your flowers somewhere else.”  
  
She looked at him frightening vitality. “Never,” she said.   
  
The answer was clear enough.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
After the encounter, Mark told the driver to take him to a bar frequented by some of the traders, and then come back in an hour. In that hour he drank a beer and five Amaretto Sours. The bartender didn’t even try to make conversation - he saw the look on Mark’s face and left him to his thoughts, which were as tattered as the sails of a ghost ship.  
  
 _Fucking up at work and yelling at old ladies in the street_ , his mind scolded.  _You’re losing it, Mark. You thought you could keep it together but you’re losing it, slowly but surely._  
  
Even this internal inventory was distracted by a throbbing need hanging between his legs. Thinking about how his sex life with Linda had changed to something edgy, nasty, and ever-more-fulfilling only made him anticipate the next time he could throw her down, spread her legs, and plow her wet, fertile cunt. He saw the way she was after a good fucking - breathy, satisfied, floating on air - and wondered if the people who saw her during the day could tell that she was getting a foot of hard, thick cock to pep up her mood. Maybe she gossiped about it, maybe now He didn’t know. The fantasies they were sharing with each other were things that couldn’t be talked about with strangers.  
  
Then there was the entire Kevin issue. Mark still had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. Straight-up confronting the boy would raise the issue of how he had found the videos in the first place. Even more troubling was how Mark himself felt about the entire dilemma. He and Kevin had never been the best of pals - he was an indoorsy type and Kevin was more active - but Mark had still felt a steady sense of pride about the boy. Now… that had darkened and changed.  
  
When the car service brought him home, Mark went straight to his makeshift office and unbuckled his belt, releasing the pressure on his jutting boner and letting his boxers tent upward as he undid his top trouser button. He wanted Kevin to stop doing what he was doing, he decided, but he also didn’t want the boy to know that he had been discovered, which would be a humiliation for them both.  
  
His cock throbbed with a low, voyeuristic intensity as he created a new Twitter profile: “Mr. Big” and then drew down from the company discretionary fund to create a special-purpose entity for this alter-ego’s financial transactions. He had discovered previously that NyaanCutie had a Twitter account where people could send donations, flirty DMs and request custom content. For these services Kevin took payments via Amazon gift cards. Absurdly, Mark found himself proud of how ingenious the boy had been in this regard.  
  
In other areas his reaction was less parental. In viewing the NyaanCutie twitter and seeing the types of people Kevin interacted with, Mark was able to paint a picture in his mind of the lifestyle Kevin aspired to, and it was frightening. Kevin seemed to be  _obsessed_  with cocks. There were hundreds of retweets of fat, throbbing meat, sometimes hanging ponderously and sometimes being shoved up the asses of hairless sissy boys. Every weekend Kevin ‘rated’ the cocks that were sent to him via DM and retweeted photos with short descriptions of all the sucking and fucking he would do if he encountered them in person.  
  
He posted pictures of his pale, smooth sixteen-year-old bubble-butt, spreading himself lewdly, as well as pictures of his lips and mouth, enticing viewers to imagine what it would be like for those pouty boy lips to lick and suck their hard penises. The commentary on these revealed a one-track mind:

> <3 <3 Need someone to come over and destroy my prostate  
> fuck I want to suck some diiiiiiick ~nyaa  
> Who wants to feed kitty some cummies? ~nyaa

His identity was always partially concealed by the surgical mask but there was no doubt who it was.  
  
After viewing one tweet that said “can I admit i like to succ really big diccs? <3” featuring NyaanCutie in cat-ear barrette, pulling down panties to slowly reveal a perfect, inviting pink asshole between two gorgeous cheeks, Mark felt his cock reaching maximum hardness.  
  
“ _You little cocksucking faggot_ ,” he muttered, and his hand went to his shaft and rubbed it slightly in spite of himself. It felt bad and wrong to say such a thing about his own son, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t even see Kevin as  _gay_ , not really. That would have been something he could deal with normally. But with the crossdressing and makeup and female voice and demeanor, it as more like Kevin was a girl.  
  
He opened a DM and typed furiously. He would give the boy a demonstration, he decided, about why pimping himself out on the internet was a bad idea. The niggling part of him that told him this was a self-indulgent end-around when he could just as easily confront Kevin privately was overpowered by a dark feeling inside that was hard to describe. The way that he felt after Linda sucked his dick and was swishing the cum around in her mouth, eyes half-lidded, pubic hairs stick to her lips, moaning about how much she loved swallowing loads… that sort of disgust at what a low sexual creature she had become…  _that_  was how he felt about what Kevin was doing. He was such a nasty, dick-slurping bitch that… that…  
  
He had to handle it.

> _Looking for custom vids, mouthfuck/assfuck with biggest toys you have_
> 
> _250 USD for a start_   
>  _Interested?_   
>  _Will send 50 in tribute tonight so you know i’m real_   
>    
>  _Mr. Big_

As soon as he finished the final keystroke on the final word and hit “Enter”, he was overcome with remorse.  _Christ, what am I doing? This is a troubled kid acting inappropriately. My kid. Why is my dick hard? This isn’t some jerk-off fantasy, this is serious. I’m just a little drunk. I just need to bust a nut and calm down._  
  
Mark had perhaps two seconds to contemplate this proposed solution before the doorknob to his office turned. He was not a quick man, and age had robbed his limbs of any youthful reflexes they once had, but the fear of being discovered was enough to spur him to record speeds in pulling his chair in to the desk, the enormous boner-tent in his boxer briefs.  
  
It was Lucia, home from school and fresh from taking a post-studies dip in the pool. She was wearing a bikini with thick stripes of neon green on a base of blue, toweling off her hair as she moved through the door, speaking in agitated fashion.  
  
“Dad, don’t you think mom is being  _totally_  unfair about this trip?” Lucia prodded, and she walked directly up to him and slid her rear onto the side of his desk as she dried around her ears. “She’s treating me like a little kid!”  
  
Mark found himself unable to process what she was saying. Her tanned, gorgeous teenage body was sitting just a foot from his left knee, and with the way she had slid onto the wooden desktop, he could see right between her legs, where the front of the bikini bottom was cupping her vagina.  
  
 _No, too clinical. That’s a word for Linda to use down at the gyno. It’s cupping her cunt. It’s wet and tight and curving out around the flesh of her mound. My daughter’s pussy mound is bulging against that wet lycra. Fuck, I can see the shape of her slit. I can even see her clit. Her *17-year-old bald cunt* just a foot away from my face!_  
  
“Dad?” Lucia prompted, and then waved a hand in front of her face. “Whew, it smells like booze! Did you go to a bar after work?”  
  
“No… yes. Some of the guys…” His voice trailed off. When was the last time Lucia had seen him drunk? It had to be years.  
  
“Well, I won’t tell mom,” she indulged, and Mark knew exactly what she was doing, he detected effortlessly with parental instincts keen to the scent of bullshit. Lucia was here to get him over to her side, drive a wedge between him and Linda so he would go to bat for her in the matter of her concert. “You see how she  _super_ -overreacts about stuff. Like my trip, you know? Half the girls in my class are going.”  
  
She cocked her head to the side and squeezed the water out of her hair with a towel. She was on the desk’s corner, thighs spread to shoulder width. Mark could see the white edges of her tan lines, marking the unexplored territory of her perfect, gravity-defying breasts, her round ass, and was that the hint of lighter skin in the triangle between her legs? The first boy lucky enough to remove Lucia’s bikini bottom would, Mark was sure, be confronted by puffy, squeezable, cuppable mound of flesh with a just a tiny bit of light-colored pubic hair visible. He knew the color, he knew the shape. He was close enough to see the baby-fine hairs on her thighs and forearms, hairs usually completely invisible.  
  
“Who’s going to this thing, again?” Mark asked, sounding indulgent, just willing his brain to start working, to stop ogling and start parenting. His cock was hidden under the desk, since he had pulled his chair in so far - safe from her view. It was as hard as he had ever felt it, and seemed even larger than it had been in the morning.   
  
“Janie. Sharon. Olivia. A bunch of girls, you wouldn’t know them all. And like I told you, we’re staying at Sharon’s aunt’s, so it’s not like we’re on some dangerous-”  
  
“But your mother and I don’t know them,” Mark said, firmly. “We’ve never met Sharon’s folks, let alone her aunt.”  
  
“*I* know them!” Lucia said. Her eyes were wide and earnest and oh-so-blue. “They’ve come to school stuff. I’ve talked to them, they’re really nice.” She paused and pouted. “Don’t you trust me? Maybe I expected this from mom but I thought you and I had the sort of relationship where we treat each other like adults. I’m seventeen, I’m not some stupid kid!”  
  
 _You want me to treat you like an adult, Luce? I have something really adult I can show you._  Mark pushed the thought away with difficulty and took a different angle. “So if I phoned up some of the dads I know who have kids in your grade, I wouldn’t find out that they’re planning a little weekend themselves? Because you told your mom and I this was strictly a girl’s night.”  
  
For a split-second, a look of shifty-eyed guilt passed over Lucia’s face, and she fiddled with her hands on the desk’s edge and looked away. “I haven’t heard anything about any guys,” she said. Mark called her bluff and his hand reached for the cellphone. “Craig is in your class, right? I know his parents. Let me just give them a ring-”  
  
He did not actually know Craig’s parents, it was just a name he had heard her say, but he was sure at this point that there was more to Lucia’s “concert trip” than met the eye. And as expected, she reached out a hand to stop him before he could even start dialing.  
  
“Alright, fine!” Lucia complained, unable to make eye contact for more than a second before angling her head away. Her cheeks were blushing. “Maybe some of the boys were planning on going to the concert as well. But I knew if I told mom that, she wouldn’t even listen.”  
  
 _You got that right,_  Mark thought.  _Unsupervised overnight stay in a different city with a bunch of boys? What made you think this ever had a chance?_ He felt charmed by her audacity; for a moment he almost forgot about his raging erection. Then, it occurred to him where he had heard the name Craig. Teenage voices rang in his head, clear as a bell, Lucia and her friends Mary-Anne and Marissa.  
  
“...Craig is such a jerk…”  
“...She said he blew him and he has a huge dick...”   
  
“So what were you planning to do if you went on this trip?” Mark heard himself ask, with a note of agitation in his voice. “With those boys?”  
  
“Nothing!” Lucia insisted, but it was an obvious lie. “Just hang out at the concert.” The untruth passed between them, him knowing it, her knowing he knew it. The beginnings of a secret.  
  
“You said you want the sort of relationship where we treat each other like adults,” Mark went on. “But you can see how hard it is for you to tell me anything.” He paused, then went on. “If you were a little more transparent about what’s really going on, maybe I could… work on your mother. Try to bring her around to letting you go.”  
  
 _You lying fuck_ , he thought.  _You want to hear what’s going on with her and those boys. You have no chance of getting Linda to agree to this. Are you really going to bullshit your own daughter this way?_  
  
With more than a foot of thick, throbbing meat nearly stabbing into the underside of the desk, Mark decided he was. Lucia’s face lit up as soon as he hinted at the chance, and Mark saw a greed behind her eyes that he knew well.  _God, she’s thinking about fucking some guy’s brains out, isn’t she? Is it Craig? The guy with the quote-unquote ‘big cock’?_  
  
“Okay, well,” Lucia said, hesitantly. “Some of the girls who are… seeing guys… are going to spend time with them at the concert, and after,” she admitted. Her cheeks were red with guilt, as if admitting even a slight interest in male companionship to her father was a struggle.  
  
“Are  _you_  seeing anyone?”  
  
Lucia blushed even more deeply. “...Craig,” she admitted, and then dropped her eyes down to her knees. Mark felt his cock throb. Back when he’d been eavesdropping on Lucia and her friends and gossip had turned to the size of Craig’s meat, Lucia had been scandalized by the idea. What had changed? Lucia looked up at him again. “I’m being honest with you, dad - you can’t tell mom, okay?”  
  
“I won’t.”   
  
 _Have you sucked his dick, Lucy? Has Craig made that smooth jaw of yours creak by stuffing some fat cock down your throat? Has Craig approached you after you’ve been swimming and peeled that bikini bottom off and pinned your knees back against your shoulders? Or maybe you’ve bent over for him and let him watch you peel that bottom off of your wet pussy. How many inches does he have? Eight? Nine? What’s ‘big’ to a girl like you? Because I bet I could show you something._  
  
In the course of choking back these questions he realized that he was jealous.   
  
“Have you two, uh… are you close? Because you haven’t brought him around, like you did with that other guy. Dave or whatever.”  
  
“It was Daniel, dad,” Lucia said. “And that was like eight months ago.” Again, her face seemed to be hiding something. “This isn’t that kind of thing.”  
  
 _I bet I know what kind of thing it is. You don’t want to bring him around here because your connection with him isn’t wholesome and innocent._  
  
“I don’t know, Luce,” Mark said. “I don’t see an angle here that is going to change your mother’s mind.”  
  
“She doesn’t need to know everything!” Lucia insisted. “And you can just convince her it’s not so bad!” Amazingly, she slid off of the desk - her buttocks moving and changing and bulging according to the contours of the edge, and sat down on his thigh. It was not the first time she had done this; sat on his lap like a kid talking to Santa Claus at the mall, but it was the first time in many years. She was a petite girl and he a fairly large man, so it was still possible.  
  
“Please, dad,” Lucia begged. She put her hands around Mark’s neck and swivelled her hips ninety degrees so her legs were between his. In doing so, her warm, firm buttocks pressed against his thigh and her calves and upper thighs gave his boner a healthy rub. Did she notice? He could not tell. “Just… put your foot down. You’re the man of the house, right? Just tell mom I’m an adult now who can make her own decisions.”  
  
“That’s pretty old-fashioned, honey,” Mark said, trying to keep calm. He could smell pool water, chlorine, and the unmistakable scent of  _teenage girl_. Clean skin, clean hair, breath unsullied by cigarettes or yellowed teeth. The essence of youth. His enormous erection was nearly bursting through his pants, her sitting on his lap had forced his chair slightly away from the desk, and to see it, all she would need to do is look down.   
  
“But you can do it,” Lucia said, and her voice was indulgent and flattering. “Like you did with Mr. Krieg.”  
  
Mark’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”  
  
“When you threw him out of the house. I was there, remember?”  
  
“You were in your room.”  
  
Lucia shook her head slowly and looked at him meaningfully. “I saw.”  
  
Mark blinked as his mind blazed in ten different directions at once. “You… saw.”  
  
“Yes. It... it made me think differently about you.” Her legs shifted a little, spread a little, and her right knee moved sideways, touching lightly against his lower shaft and balls. Mark nearly fainted. Did she know what she was doing? It reminded him of groping dates in darkened movie theaters, the subtle move that quickly becomes something more.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked, feeling his pulse racing.  
  
“I never knew you were that… intense, you know?” Lucia ventured, and the blush came to her face again. “I’ve heard you with mom, too.”  
  
“Oh Jesus, really?”  
  
“You guys are pretty loud lately.” Lucia offered a knowing smile, as if to say,  _yes fellow adult, we are both adults here and can make sex jokes and such, never mind that I am almost 25 years younger than you._ “I know she… I mean, mom will listen to you, dad. She’ll do what you say. So… promise me you’ll talk to her.”  
  
She slid up his thigh and leaned closer to center. Her butt was rubbing against his shaft now, and Mark felt a surge of animalistic desire inside that scared him. This wasn’t a dirty fantasy, some forbidden, taboo thing to explore with Linda between the sheets. This was  _really happening._ And amazingly,  _Lucia seemed to be fine with it._  
  
“How did that make you feel?” Mark asked, gently. And his outside hand went to Lucia’s thigh, in the same way it had, innocently, as few as six or seven years ago, before her body had blossomed. Now, his unspoken intentions were other. Her skin seemed to be burning with youthful heat. “Seeing that, and hearing that?”  
  
“I’m… fine with it,” Lucia said, and her face said she was not just fine but interested. “I’m not a little girl anymore, okay? I can have real conversations about that stuff.” She adjusted herself on his lap, turning more straight, facing more away, taking her hands off his neck as she began to face away. Her fingers brushed against the fly of his pants and pulled buttons - pop, pop, pop. Without even looking she had freed him. His cock burst from his pants and hooked up and around his belly like a giant, girthy banana.   
  
Mark’s mind screamed at him as he felt his straining cock hit the open air. _Stop it. Stop it now. Now, now, now. Just get up and walk away._ But he couldn’t. Something about what has happening was intoxicating in a different and far more potent way than those five Amaretto Sours. It brought back memories of halting, forbidden explorations, from back when he was seventeen years old himself; back then he had been self-conscious about not just his size but his lack of experience, but he and his sweetheart (far before Linda) had blundered forward anyway, and he had found her with his fingers and she had found him, and they had both decided that, any disappointments in size aside, her in the tits and him in the cock, they would go forward together a little at a time. Grabbing here. Brushing up there. Then a more measured squeeze and a sharp breath as an acknowledgement that something hard and engorged with blood been found. The memory came back in such a rush that it was irresistible; Mark’s heart was beating through his chest. Lucia was the gorgeous blonde girl he never could have had in high school… and she was being very forward, showing interest he’d never received back in the day.  
  
“Honey, I’m kinda drunk;” Mark babbled. “And you walked in the middle of-”  
  
“It’s okay,” Lucia chided, and she lifted her hips for a second to resettle herself. Her bikini-bottom clad butt was right in his hand, and she ran a hand over his belly, not precisely grabbing his dick but still touching it, making it separate from just below his naval and stand straight up and away. Then she sat down again, higher, and his dick was pressed between their bodies. She had her knees together, her legs touching the ground between his thighs… and the pressure of her weight was right on his upper thighs and cock.  
  
He heard her inhale sharply, a cute gasp. Mark looked down and saw his meat as hotdogging the buns of her young ass; the tip poking out from between the pert, gorgeous apple slices of Lucia’s rear. “Honey… nnngh…”  
  
“It’s okay,” she said again. “Just… promise me. Promise me you’ll talk to mom.” They had spoken not one word about what was happening, they could both still totally deny it. If Mark decided to overrule Linda, he could claim it was for any reason or no reason. The fact that nothing had happened they couldn’t hide away was enough to keep Mark paralyzed with pleasure, even as he knew a crucial, forbidden line was being crossed. Lucia began to slide her hips back and forth, rubbing his dick through the navy-and-neon green fabric of her bikini bottom, massaging it with her perfectly-shaped teenage ass cheeks. Glorious hair, still partially wet, cascaded down her back and filled his nose with the scent of summer.  
  
And there was another scent in the air. The scent of sweat and cock, emanating from him. Mark watched as a fat pearl of pre-cum gathered in his pisshole and then squeezed out onto beltline when Lucia’s hips rose high. His daughter’s assjob was unspeakably warm and tight, with just the right amount of pressure.  
  
“I... don’t know,” he managed to say, his voice sounding alien to his own ears.  
  
“Please?” Lucia whispered, and she reached down between her legs, and suddenly instead of soft bikini fabric, the underside of his dick was feeling flesh - wet, hot, moist flesh. He had pulled out the crotch and let his cock slide inside the garment and move lengthwise between her thighs. Instead of emerging from between her cheeks, Mark’s cocktip now pressed directly into the inside of her bikini bottom’s back, tenting it out… and making a small, circular cum-stain. He gritted his teeth.  
  
Lucia began to move her hips again, and this time their flesh was touching, he felt the wetness on the underside of his cock and realized that the sexy, puffy teenage cunt mound that he’d imagined so frequently was actually rubbing all over his cock, her labia were split and his fat meat was sliding between them like a large hotdog into a bun. She was bracing her hands on his knees, becoming more deliberate in her attentions, making more a lap-dance than a father/daughter chat. If Linda, or anyone else, were to walk into his office now, the two of them would be caught for sure… but yet Mark couldn’t bring himself to push her away.  
  
He understood it needed to end before they were discovered - but there was only one way his body wanted to end it. Mark leaned forward and whispered in Lucia’s ear, giving her the terms of a deal. All she would have to do is say something and it would be enough. Her trip would be on.  
  
She listened and then made a gasping sound - it was part guilty pleasure and part surprise. And then leaned back against his chest, let her blonde hair wash against his neck and spoke:  
  
“I love your big fucking cock, daddy,” Lucia whispered, and rubbed her cleft over his shaft achingly, arching her back, hooking her arm around his neck and stopping at the highest point, so his throbbing dick knob was pressed directly against her pussy, grinding against it. Her lube-soaked labia massaged his tip like a polishing cloth.  
  
Mark grunted and slid an arm around Lucia’s thin, shapely midsection, holding her in place. There was no holding back the orgasm he’d been building toward through the whole day’s frustration. A hot burst of thick semen sprayed out of his dickhole and splattered into Lucia’s crotch. He had asked her to say “ _I like big dicks_ ”, nothing more, nothing less. The additional flourishes had been her own.  
  
“I want to suck it,” she whispered again, their hips bucking and their bodies gasping together as Mark unloaded shot after shot of sperm inside Lucia’s bikini bottom, hosing down her pussy, her clit, her asshole, and her inner thighs with hot dick cream. “Come to my bedroom at night and just put it in my mouth, daddy.” She groaned as what felt like a constant stream of nut goo sprayed against her pussy lips, turning her bikini bottom into a morass. “I like guys who shoot a lot, you know?”  
  
“Oh you fucking little slut-” Mark gasped. In that moment he felt a familiar feeling of lust mixed with disgust - the same feeling he felt seeing Linda with her pussy gaping and cum flooding down over her asshole, moaning and thanking him brainlessly for fucking the shit out of her. His little, innocent blonde daughter was nothing more than a dirty-mouthed whore. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach as his orgasm died down, and in that moment, he was able to push Lucia away so she stood up and her hip bumped against the desk.  
  
He panted and looked up at her, his cock softening. The crotch of his pants was a mess, but not as much of a mess as Lucia’s bikini bottom. She faced him and silently pulled the bottom down over her hips… revealing a pussy that had been thoroughly marked. Fat strands of yellowish, chunky cum connected her labia and thighs to the fabric as she moved it away, they stretched for six inches or more without breaking. How many shots had he fired against her pussy? It must have been fifteen, or twenty. Her crotch was totally  _creamed_. He had pumped a huge load out, all over his daughter’s teenage cunt!  
  
Lucia reached down with an unsteady hand and gathered a fat clump of cum from the crotch of her bikini bottom - it was also soaked. She brought it in front of her eyes and spread her fingers, where the extra-thick, virile sperm separated into gooey strands. She inhaled and her eyes sharpened. “Nnngh, fuck!” she moaned. “It’s so thick!”  
  
Mark was staring at her pussy, which was exposed with the bikini bottom bridged halfway down her thighs. It was totally cum-smeared and a half-dozen of his coarse pubic hairs sticking to her in jagged squiggles, standing out obviously against her skin and her own barely-visible pubes. Lucia’s once-immaculate twat looked utterly violated. The only saving grace was that he had not actually penetrated her.  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, and then a familiar sound came - the whirr of the garage door opening several rooms away. Linda was coming home from her shift at the gynecologist’s office. For a moment Mark was too weary and emotionally drained to even move, but Lucia knew what to do. He watched as she pulled up the bikini bottom abruptly and wiped her fingers on her upper thigh and the edge of the desk. “Don’t forget what you promised, dad,” she said, and then trotted out the office door as if nothing had happened, her buttocks jiggling with youthful pertness.  
  
Mark swallowed. Her bikini bottom was totally loaded up with sperm and she had just pulled it up tight between her legs. Her pussy was stewing in his cum. Lucia had his sweaty, nasty pubes smeared all over her cunt mound. He felt a strange alien rush that came with marking her as his territory, knowing her future boyfriends would be sliding their tongues into a slit he’d thoroughly blasted, and felt another surge of regret and disgust.  
  
But Linda was coming. There was no time to dwell on it. Mark shut all the browser tabs on his computer, putting Mr. Big on hiatus for the moment, and began trying to coax his cock back inside his fly. It was not an easy task, and he managed it, with difficulty, just as he heard Linda come in the door and call out for him: “Mark, I need help with the groceries!”  
  
Covered in sweat, clothes disheveled, and his face flushed, knowing he smelled like sex, he had no choice but to walk out and greet her. “Coming hon!” he called out, surprised at how normal he managed to sound. It occurred to him that his capacity for lies and bullshit hadn’t yet reached its limit, and that despite what had just happened, he wasn’t breaking down emotionally. He could probably carry this secret for quite a while.   
  
Maybe forever. Was there a limit to what he could do in the dark, outside the light?  
  
Mark Ottman found this to be the scariest question of all.


	9. 14"

As Mark Ottman sat at the breakfast table, three days after his forbidden encounter with his daughter Lucia, he realized that for the first time he felt physically uncomfortable. Despite his purchase of more accomodating pants and underwear, he was acutely aware of the weight and size of his penis as it flopped against the inside of his leg. He fidgeted and took a wider-kneed stance, and it only helped a little. Even with his thighs spread, he could feel his balls sitting like big fat pouches on the edge of his chair… and the sausage-like length of his cock, a full ten inches when flaccid, laying on top of them.

“Pancakes, Mark?” Linda asked, from her spot in front of the stove. It was the weekend, she was wearing her tennis visor and short white skirt already. She would soon depart for a lesson. Previously, Mark might have viewed such provocative attire as a warning sign that she was trying to impress a hunky instructor… but he knew he wasn’t in danger of any infidelity. Last night, she had absolutely fucked his brains out, taking his cock in every position and orifice for over two hours. Their sex had left the sheets so stained that Linda, after her recovery, had to change them before they went to bed. Through all of her orgasms she had moaned to him about his size, how much she loved it, and fed his ego by purring about what an alpha stud he was, entitled to every sexual pleasure his mind could dream up. She had even measured him again… revealing that he was nearly fourteen inches when hard.

It just made Mark feel weary. “No, just the bacon and eggs,” he muttered, drumming his fingers on his pants legs. He picked up his phone and started to browse the news, wanting to get breakfast - a family tradition - over with as quickly as possible. Linda bent over the stove to push some rashers of bacon on the back burner, and he saw her skirt slip up to reveal the hint of her panties and the curve of her large ass. His cock twitched, making mark feel more sullen than ever. He felt like he had almost no control over it, and that lack of control - and the idea that Linda was using it for her own gratification - was bothering him more and more each day.

“Pancakes? Nice!” Kevin announced as he walked into the kitchen. He was carrying a skateboard and wearing a baggy black hoodie with a punk-anarchist Hello Kitty on the front, fitted in stark contrast to his black tights. They were skintight on his slender legs, the sort of thing a runner or a surfer might wear. He walked over to the stove and started picking and poking to grab some of the ham that Linda was also searing. As he did so, his hoodie pulled up at the waist to reveal his low-slung compression tights and the thick black waistband of his underwear peeking out overtop.  _ CALVIN KLEIN _ in big, bold letters. Even though his legs thin and athletic, Kevin’s rear end was very round… a fact that seemed to jump out at Mark more and more regularly, despite his attempts not to think about it. The flesh of his butt actually bounced and clapped a little as he leaned over the stove.

Linda tried to shoo him away, but he grabbed one piece of ham and popped it into his mouth, turning away from the stove… only for Linda to grab his arm. “Kevin!” she gasped, grabbing his chin. “What is this?” Her hand mashed his cheeks upward as she looked at his mouth. Kevin had a piercing on his lip, a silver ring at the lower left-hand corner of his mouth. Linda scowled and turned to Mark. “Mark, have you seen this!?” she groused.

“C’mon mom, it’s no big deal,” Kevin complained, looking sheepish. But Linda wouldn’t be consoled, and continued her diatribe as bacon popped and sizzled on the stove. 

“Who’s going to hire you for a summer job with that thing in your mouth?” she complained. “Didn’t you even think to talk to your father and I about it?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Mom, employers don’t care about this sort of stuff anymore!” he said. “I can get plenty of jobs.”

“Where? At that skate shop you’re always hanging around?”

Mark watched the exchange with horrified fascination. He had already seen the lip ring - because Kevin had posted about it on the NyaanCutie twitter account, carefully cropping out the rest of his face. He had also already seen the goth-cute hoodie - it was from NyaanCutie’s Amazon.com wishlist. Obviously, some horny bastard had bought it for Kevin, though god knew where it had been delivered to or picked up at. And there was something else-

“Dad, this isn’t a big deal, right?” Kevin was asking, and both he and Linda turned to him for input. Mark narrowed his eyes.

“Did you get a haircut?” he asked, and Linda pulled the hoodie off of Kevin’s head to reveal sideswept bangs clinging to close to his scalp, extending to his ears, like an early-career Justin Bieber. 

“What, I can’t get a haircut now?” Kevin complained, looking dejected.

_ How much cock have you been sucking _ , Mark thought, and managed to bite back the question before it showed on his face.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at that place,” he commented. “I know you like it but I guess your mother and I aren’t sure it’s good for you to be so… into that culture,” he finished, lamely.

Kevin looked more bratty and bored than ever, exhaling and blowing some of that hair out of his face, rolling his eyes so far they seemed ready to tip out of his skull. “Dad, it’s just a place where people can buy equipment. It’s retro. Tim said he would teach me how to do a setup on a board and put new trucks on it.” He sighed. “You guys don’t understand.”

Mark felt a surge of anger.  _ You’re selling your ass on the internet and you see fit to roll your eyes at me? _ he thought, viciously.  _ And now you have a lip ring to really show off the fact that your mouth is nothing but a pouty, dick-slurping cock hole.  _ His anger frightened him and got his heart racing, and though he tried not to show it on his face, Kevin must have seen it, as his eyes filled with apprehension and his tone immediately changed. 

“It’s just a hobby,” he explained, more gently and with less petulance in his voice. “They sell equipment there, that’s all.” He dropped his head and now he looked obsequious. Mark had driven past the skate park a number of times, and he imagined Kevin, shirtless and with his tights low on his hips and his Calvin Klein underwear waistband legible, sliding gloriously across the cement bowls on his board, with his chin-length hair whipping against his head, clinging there because of a little summer sweat. The thought made him even more angry, and he didn’t know why… didn’t now why, and had no time to figure it out mid-conversation.

“We’re going to have a talk about this,” Linda scolded.

“Whatever!” Kevin moped, and suddenly Mark wanted to grab Kevin by his skull and show him what boys with lip rings and long bangs were really good for; more to the point, the boy’s disrespect made him angry in a way it never had before, and his reaction to it was different as well. He felt a need inside his body to brooke no disrespect, to assert his dominance, as he had with Ted Krieg, who had seen fit to flirt with Linda worry-free, as if Mark was nothing to fear. In a split second, he saw an image in his mind’s eye of Kevin as NyaanCutie, gasping and pouting, fat ropes of semen connecting that full-lipped boi mouth with a big, throbbing cocktip, makeup-rimmed eyes watering, glossed hips wet with pre-cum. His voice, desperate for air, saying:   
  
“ _ I’m sorry, daddy. I’m sorry I’m such a bitch. Fuck my skull for me and teach me how to be a man!” _

And on the heels of that-

_ Jesus Christ what am I thinking. _

“Let’s just calm down,” Mark cautioned, holding his hands up with palms outward, a peace offering. “Your mother said talk, we’ll just talk, that’s all.”

“Oh, we’ll  _ talk _ alright,” Linda snapped.

“Linda, come on,” Mark chided. “Just… get breakfast ready.” 

Her lip curled, but she went back to the stove. Mark sat down at the table sullenly. Lucia entered the kitchen and, like her younger brother, hovered around the stove looking for morsels. Linda shoo’d her away too, and she sat down next to Kevin, directly across from Mark. They had mostly avoided each other since the encounter in the office, and Mark was content to let her think that he had been too drunk to remember any of it. Young Katie was the last to join them in the kitchen, she boosted herself onto a seat next perpendicular to Mark, already wearing her gymnastics uniform. She had been practicing her “floor routine” (which consisted of simple tumbled and somersaults) all month, and clutched a baton with long ribbons attached in one hand. Her tiny toes wiggled in her leggings as she fidgeted, her honey-colored hair was done up in twin streamers.

“I want pancakes!” Katie declared. Linda served bacon, eggs, ham, and pancakes to everyone, fixing a plate for herself, and sat down at the table. Mark was eating quickly; he wanted to leave the room and get back to his office. It seemed to him that Lucia was stealing glances at him; but it could just have been his imagination. His long-haired, blonde eldest daughter was dressed in a halter top and jean shorts  _ just _ modest enough to avoid parental complaint. Mark was almost done eating when Lucia spoke up.

“So, the concert trip is all planned,” she remarked, tossing Mark a glance. In his life, Mark had had plenty of occasions - especially recently - where his stomach turned to water and his heart started pounding - but none quite like this. He  _ had _ promised Lucia he would smooth ‘concert trip’ issue over with Linda, but he hadn’t even spoken to his wife about it in the three days since that promise. As far as Linda knew, Lucia wasn’t allowed to go and they were both in agreement on that.

“What’s planned?” Linda remarked. “You’re not going anywhere.”

In his mind, Mark saw two trains on the same track, destined for a head-on collision.

“Uh, actually,” he piped up, clearing his throat of bacon, “I thought it would be okay this time. As a reward for Lucia’s grades being so good this year.”

CLANK! Linda threw her fork onto her plate. “What?” she cried. “Since when?”

Mark again made his ‘calm down’ motion, to little success. “You didn’t talk to her?” Lucia said. “But you promised-”

“I know-”

“MARK!” Linda shouted. “I need to talk to you  _ right now _ !” She pushed back from the kitchen table with a squeak of chair on tile. Lucia and Kevin exchanged a knowing glance, and Katie looked up from her pancakes.

“Are you  _ fighting _ ?” she asked, earnestly, as if fighting was a dirty word.

“No,” said Mark, rising from the table. Mercifully, his cock wasn’t anywhere close to hard, making his bulge less obvious. 

“Daddy and I are going to have a discussion,” said Linda, and she beckoned him down the hall and toward his office. He stepped out of the kitchen, with Lucia tossing him a knowing looking just as he passed out of view. Linda’s movement was like a march, it was hard to keep pace. Once they arrived in the room she shut the door behind her.

“You asshole!” she seethed. Her eyes were blazing; he had seldom seen her this pissed. “We talked about this. We’d present a united front so I don’t seem like the bad guy! You totally sold me out in there!” She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward to hiss the last part in his face.

“Linda-”

“After all I’ve done for you. Taking care of you. Helping you through this accident-”

“We both-”

Linda lowered her voice a little more. “Satisfying you. Sexually. Those fantasies of yours. I haven’t said ‘no’ to anything. Making you feel like a king. And you turn around and show me so little regard-”

“Hold on!” Mark said, angrily. “I didn’t tell you to do any of that! That stuff. You know what I mean. You did it yourself!” He felt wounded by the idea that Linda was simply indulging him in bed. It was true that his cock seemed to respond most quickly to the forbidden things she whispered in his ear, but he hadn’t explicitly asked for any of it. She tempted him, he fucked her, and he felt increasingly guilty after.

“Bullshit, Mark,” Linda said. “There are a million ways to ask for something. You didn’t even look at me for years-”

“That’s not true-”

Linda raised her voice and overrode him. “You didn’t even look at me for years!” she repeated. “And now you’re ready to go, two or three times a night, because I’m telling you how big your cock is, and what a stud you are, and how much I love the idea of you fucking little teenage girls!”   
  
Mark’s eyes bulged out. “Keep your goddamn voice down!” he said urgently, in a low register. “You were just as into it as I was! Don’t put it on me! You didn’t do anything for years either; you were eyeing up that creep Ted Krieg! But now that my cock is bigger you’re suddenly all over me? You act like a fucking size queen whore!”

She slapped his face and he surged forward, gripping her by the shoulders and pressing her against the wall. It was the most physical he’d ever been with her in nearly two decades of marriage. In the moment, he felt out of control… but it was a familiar feeling. As if a do-anything, say-anything, damn-the-consequences maleness had taken root in his body somewhere.   
  
“You bastard,” Linda breathed, pressed up against the wall. “You bastard, what am I doing with you?”

“I don’t know, Linda,” Mark replied. “I don’t know. But whatever you’re doing to me or I’m doing to you, we’re doing it to each other. We’re in this together.”

“No!” she spat. “ _ You _ ran over that black kid.  _ You _ have that big nasty thing between your legs.”

“Yeah and you love it, don’t you?” Mark seethed. His forearm was brushing against one of her nipples, and he could tell it was hard. “You’re probably soaking wet right now. All those times you told me you loved being the bitch of a real alpha male, that was true, wasn’t it? But now that the alpha is here you want to have your cake and eat it, too! You want your say in trips and rules and the color of the fucking drapes, but you want me to turn around and fuck you like an animal every night! And don’t tell me it’s not true because even when I’m fucking exhausted you roll over and start jerking me off so you can get it!”

“Fuck you!” Linda growled in his face. “You think you don’t know why you’re giving her her way? You think I don’t see how you stare at her?

“Lower your goddamn voice,” Mark warned. But Linda’s hand went to his cock and found it rapidly hardening, and though her voice did lower, it became more secretive and sultry. 

“What were you doing that day, when I came home? You were sweating. You smelled like sex. Were you jerking off to your own daughter? Letting her cocktease you and get a promise out of you so you could go into your office and pull your dick? Did she sit on your lap and call you ‘daddy’? You disgusting fucking pig!” Yet even as she was saying this, she was stroking him, getting him hard through his pants, making his cock bulge against his beltline, seeking release. It was if she was seeking to prove her theory, to incriminate him with his own hardness.

“Shut up, Linda!” Mark growled, and he slid his hand up under her tennis skirt and into her panties, finding her pussy very accepting of his fingers. “Why are you wet right now? It’s because you love what I’m giving you! So shut your fucking cunt mouth and be a good dick sleeve, and make my breakfast, and play tennis and do yoga to keep your big ass looking right, and I’ll keep fucking you. And you’ll tell me anything I want, as dirty as I want, and do whatever I want, or I’ll toss your ass to the curb!”

“You… fuck…” Linda moaned, as his fingers pistoned in and out of her, and her hand sped up in jerking his cock through his pants. She was fumbling with his fly.

“Lucia can do whatever I say,” Mark growled, grinding his thumb on her clit and rubbing two fingers in and up, finding that G-spot protrusion of flesh. “I make the rules around here from now on. So you’re going to go back into that kitchen, and say we discussed it, and say it’s fine for her to go on her trip! And if you do that I’ll fuck the absolute shit out of you tonight!”

Linda moaned and finished unzipping his fly. His cock, half-hard and getting harder, flopped out like a fat boa constrictor. They stumbled into a gasping, moaning rotation, leaving Mark’s back against the wall and Linda jerking him, pressed up against his chest, his fingers buried under her skirt. Ropes of cloudy pre-cum began to slide from his dickhole.

“What did you do to her?” Linda hissed in his ear. “Did you show her this big… fucking…”

The latch on the door rattled. Linda had closed it but not locked it. It opened and Katie came inside, utterly unabashed. “Are you two fighting!?” she wailed, closing the door behind her, looking but not really  _ seeing _ until she turned toward them and her eyes focused and widened.

Mark and Linda immediately froze. His fat, heavy fuckmeat was jutting straight out from his fly at a 90 degree angle, almost bending under its own 14 inch engorged size, while Linda gripped his shaft, unable to get her hand fully around it. A huge rope of pre-cum slid down onto the floor. A half-second of utter shocked silence seemed like ten seconds, Mark saw and felt it all in hideous slow motion. Katie did not scream, instead, she dropped her baton and clutched her hands to her flat chest, her eyes moving downward. It was completely clear what she was looking at.

“Katie!” Linda cried. The young girl’s eyes seemed as big a saucers. 

“Is that daddy’s  _ penis _ ?” she asked, sounding suitably surprised. Penises were a mystery thing she almost never got to see or hear about. “It’s real big!”

“Katie, leave and shut the door!” Linda ordered. Mark found himself unable to speak at all. He simply saw Katie’s eyes, utterly transfixed by his cock, an eight-year-old elementary schooler with wide blue eyes and long blonde pigtails, in a skin-tight leotard that showed off every detail of her body - the thin, spindly torso with the slightest, tiniest swells of breast tissue… and that raised curve in her pubic area; she had so little body fat that the puffy mounds of her outer labia seemed to stand out, he felt like he could even detect the delta between them and the nub of her underdeveloped little clit-

“Nnngh!” Mark moaned, and a fat rope of semen blasted out of the tip of his cock, traveled two feet through the air, and splattered to the ground. It was followed by a second, and Linda was so surprised that her hand flew from his shaft and let it bob unhindered in the air. It took only moments for Mark to come to his senses, but in that time he’d unloaded three big spurts of cum right in front of his youngest daughter, who saw every detail of his ejaculation.   
  
“Aaaagh!” Katie wailed, and then turned around and ducked out the door. Her face was confused, not able to understand what she was seeing. But she had not looked away, Mark knew that. She had raptly watched every second.

Linda looked at him and he made eye contact. “Oh my god,” she said. “Mark, she saw-”

“I know,” he said, searching her face for anger, for worry, for a point-of-no-return firestorm of condemnation. He saw only hints of what she might be feeling. His fingers were still inside her and she was still hot as a firecracker. He moved them slightly and she bit her lip and cried out. 

“No, Mark-”

But her hips surged into him, and it was thirty seconds before Linda gathered herself and left the room.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, after Mark had gone into the office for the first time in nearly a week, desperate to be out of the house for the day, he and Linda lay in bed, side by side, staring up at the ceiling.

“How’s Katie doing?” Mark asked.

“She’s fine. I told her it was a private thing between mommy and daddy,” Linda replied.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said, after a moment. In the slow evening they spoke more in silences than words. Linda had done as he requested; telling Lucia that she could go on her concert trip. Even though Lucia’s expression had been unbelievably smug, Linda had swallowed her pride and left it at that. “We’re getting too crazy with this. It’s… it’s fun in the bedroom but we can’t let it be part of our public lives. Or a way to solve problems or settle arguments.” 

_ What about Ted Krieg? You sure used it as a problem solver that time. You don’t even really believe what you say. It has a way of cutting through the bullshit.  _

“Does that mean you don’t want to? Tonight?” Linda asked. Mark felt the embers of anger flare but let them settle.   
  
“No, not tonight.” He could feel Linda rubbing her thighs together, and knew that she was wet, and ready for him. 

“I did what you told me,” Linda said, and her hand found his wrist. “I obeyed like a good little wife.” Mark found this turn of phrase made his cock twitch despite his resolution to just go to sleep. “I’ve been waiting for you all day,” she added.

“Not tonight,” Mark said. He shut his eyes in the dimness. For a moment the only sound was the slow rotation of the ceiling fan. But he was of two minds, and he recognized it immediately. His rational side wanted Linda to simply acquiesce, turn over, and go to sleep. That’s what he  _ hoped _ would happen. Seconds turned into a minute. 

_ Good,  _ he thought.  _ Good. Maybe I have some control over this thing after all. _

But that thought was still fresh in his mind when Linda rolled sideways, pressing against him.

“Did you see the look on her face?” she breathed. He could feel her nipples pressing into his arm. Mark’s heart started beating faster, even as disappointment crept through all parts of his body except one. He didn’t know how to respond.

_ Say ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. Say ‘let’s just go to sleep’. Say ‘it never should have happened’. _

“Yes,” he said. 

“She’s only eight years old and she’s already seen the biggest, thickest cumload she’ll ever see in her life,” Linda whispered in his ear. Mark’s cock rammed to attention as if struck by lightning. It got hard so fast he felt faint from the rushing blood. “Ooh!” Linda teased. “I think maybe you  _ do _ want to do something tonight.”

“Linda, stop.”

She lifted one leg over him and straddled him, her pussy rubbing against his cock. She was wearing white lace panties, he could feel every detail of her slit through them. She slid out of these as she talked softly to him in the semi-darkness. “She saw how big you are,” she whispered. “The whole rest of her life, no man is going to measure up, Mark.”

Mark found unable to resist the fantasy - the idea that Katie was intrigued by what she had seen was a lot less unpleasant than the idea she was forever traumatized. But he knew in his mind it was nonsense, it was a twisted, perverse fantasy, and yet-

“Oh, fuck!” he moaned, reaching up and throwing Linda over. “You fucking nasty bitch!” He scooped up her legs and pinned them back. His leaking cocktip mashed against her crotch and Linda threw her hands over his neck and pulled him into her. She groaned as his girth parted her slick folds and burrowed into her cunt. He began to pump, carving up Linda’s pussy, making her wetness coat his prong, digging up against her cervix and mashing her, making her moan and squeal and clutch his shoulders in pleasure and pain. 

“Why?” he gasped down at her. “Why did you have to say that? Why do you have to be such a fucking whore?” He punctuated these with thrusts, sating his fourteen inches in her box, punishing her and taking out his frustrations. He felt disgusted but also unbelievably turned on. It was like she was the devil talking.

“Because I didn’t just see her… face…” Linda gasped, surging up into him. His dick tore into her slit and his big balls mopped and slapped her buttocks. “I saw… yours!” She gasped, then bit her lip and groaned out a quaking, shuddering climax as he rooted in her belly with his monster tool. At twelve inches she had been able to take the whole thing; now, it was difficult for Mark to get it all inside, and she seemed even tighter because of his increased girth. “I saw yours, Mark. I saw what you wanted. Our little girl. She’s only in elementary school but she’s got a fat little pussy! And you wanted it. Those puffy bald cunt lips, like a ripe peach!” 

Mark wrapped his hands around her throat. “You fucking disgusting slut!” he growled. 

“You wanted to... pump your thick, nasty cum... all over her fat... eight-year-old... pussy mound!” Linda croaked, and Mark tightened his grip on her neck and thrust into her, battering against her cervix and blasted shot after shot of hot, chunky semen into her womb, causing a creampie to pour out after only a few seconds, a whitish-yellow mess that coated her asshole and inner thighs, and his balls. Linda pulled him in, clawing at his back and pressing her mouth to his earlobe as she had a second, earth-shattering orgasm from his deep fucking. She sounded like an animal, purring and grunting to her own climax, and Mark’s own emission was extended by the utter filth of her words. He was lost in the moment, considering no consequences, no meaning, only feeling pleasure that was agnostic of any outside force. When they settled against each other, they were gasping and totally soaked in sweat.

Mark released his hands from her throat and flopped over beside her, his cock sliding from her slit. “Oh, fuck…” Linda moaned. “You fuck me so good. I love your cock so much!”

Mark continued to stare, his face blank with the cycle of temptation and rut from which he seemed unable to break himself. There were red marks on her throat where his hands had gripped tightly. He had not wanted, not intended, to have sex tonight. And to use Katie as a prop in sexual games… it was something ‘Old’ Mark would never have considered. But Linda had dragged him down to slither with her, and he had come easily, and his own weakness disgusted him as her sated, fuck-hungry breathing disgusted him. He clenched and unclenched his hands experimentally. Linda turned her head to the side and met his gaze, then giggled. “I knew you couldn’t resist,” she said, her voice hoarse from the choking. “Your fantasies are so fucking dirty.”

Mark smiled back at her, forcing the alien expression to his uncanny face. Clenching and unclenching his fists again. “I guess so,” he said. “Some of the things I’m thinking, Linda… you wouldn’t believe them.”


	10. 15"

Mark sighed and put his phone down on the edge of the sink. He was not in his bathroom, but spacious and spotless bathroom of a luxury penthouse suite at the Oakmont, a $600/night hotel that would be out of the price range of the average joe but well within the means of a hedge fund manager. He’d rented not just this suite, but the suite on the opposite corner.

He had been single-minded in his preparation, but now the phone check had him feeling morose. He had meant to check the text messages and email of his BigDickDaddy account, a burner with an embarrassing name to be sure, but required for the purposes of maneuvering his son Kevin into a lesson-learning situation. The lesson being: “Don’t sell your ass on the internet.” In doing so, he received several text messages that were a stark reminder of how things were deteriorating.

The first was a text message from Linda. It simply read: “ _can you come home early tonight? I need you_ ”, followed just fifteen minutes later by another that read “ _please Mark I need some of that big cock!_ ”, with an attached selfie showing Linda lying in bed, breasts out, makeup and hair done, making a lewd lip-licking motion with her tongue. She looked good, and more importantly, completely down to fuck and get nasty. Most guys, he mused, would probably love the idea of their wives sending them nasty texts, but for Mark it just made him feel put-upon and even resentful. The texts were a reminder of how little control he had over himself. In moments when he was really horny - a more and more common occurrence - a few words from Linda were impossible to resist. He hated that his growing, ever-insistent cock was becoming the center of his life, and couldn’t help disliking his wife a little for taking advantage of that.

He also had email notifications from Kirk Bennett, his ‘boss’ at the financial services company were he worked, and these were too scary to even read. He had a rough idea of what the emails would contain. He had been delegating more and more work to underlings in the past month or so, and was following other managers to tweak his fund performance rather than doing his own analyses. He had also been spending more and more time out of the office as his cock-related issues became more prevalent. Just from the preview lines of the emails, he knew his time was running out and things were coming to a head:  
  
_Subject Line: “Concerns About Fund Performance”_

_Hey Mark, I was looking over the reporting and I’m surprised to see you didn’t respond to the recent changes in Asia; it seems pretty clear you’re leaving percentage-points on the table_

Mark stopped reading and shut the email off. It was one of a couple subject lines which hinted at contents Mark didn’t want to read, including: _“Had To Cover For You At The Seminar”_ and _“Interns making buys on your behalf?”_

The truth was, Mark didn’t want to go into the office anymore, and tended to go in only at night, and with a large briefcase to hold in front of his crotch at all times. It was very difficult to hide his cock when flaccid, no matter the shape of the slacks he wore, and absolutely _impossible_ to hide when erect, which it tended to become like clockwork every couple of hours or so. He had been flaking, hoping to ride out his problems, but Kirk had noticed.

He fetched another sigh and looked at himself in the large mirror. Six foot, big arms, thick legs, thick torso, dad belly. A fair but not excessive coating of body hair. Short hair, rimless glasses with gold frames. And below the bottom of his belly, emerging from a thicker forest of pubic hair than previously, that big, flaccid cock. Somehow it looked even bigger than when Linda had least measured it, a few days before, and hung down well below the marble edge of the sink. Mark reached up and removed his glasses.

 _God, I look like an ogre_ , he thought. It was a strange thought to have. But without the humanizing effect of the glasses - which made his big body look more harmless in a Bruce Banner sort of way - he looked sexually intimidating. The glasses were only part of it; the larger part was, of course, that his huge, hanging cock changed the entire complexion of his body when taken as a whole. A naked pose in the mirror, in times past, would have been pretty comical. 40-something man, small penis, beer belly, with his small penis barely poking out from under the shelf of his gut? Good for a laugh! But with this new equipment… the impression was totally different. He looked like a brute.

 _I can see why the idea of having a cock like this is so intoxicating_ , Mark thought. He felt absolutely no shame in his appearance. Whatever shortcomings might have made him blush before were secondary. He had never taken a naked selfie in his life, but in that moment he understood why someone might. He reached down and lifted up his shaft and balls, dropping them on the marble edge of the sink, and felt a surge of horniness run through him that made his cock throb. The hints of the legs and core he’d developed as an offensive lineman in college were still there, visible beneath the softer outer layer than came with age. He wasn’t a funny fat old dad. He _was_ a brute. In fact, if someone were to imagine sight-unseen what a person named _BigDickDaddy_ on the internet might look like, he would be a reasonable facsimile.

Mark picked up his phone again, switched accounts, and then opened up his Twitter DM’s to review his communications with @NyaanCutie, aka. his son Kevin. He had engaged NyaanCutie with an assortment of offers, first buying a ‘custom video’ for $250 that contained Kevin sucking on a dildo and then shoving it up his ass over the course of 12 minutes, and then buying the boy several things off of his Amazon wishlist, including Slim Fit Button-Down Women’s Dress Shirts, Sexy Off-Shoulder Boat Neck Blouses, and, ridiculously, Corsair RAM for his computer.  
  
He watched Kevin closely as the weeks passed, and though he wasn’t able to catch him in the women’s clothing or making the video, he did walk in on Kevin installing the RAM. He asked the boy where he got it, and Kevin explained, lying with practiced ease, that it was just some extra RAM his friend ‘didn’t need’. Mark found this explanation absurd, but didn’t press the issue.

He also promised himself he wouldn’t jerk off to @NyaanCutie’s custom video when it arrived, reasoning it was only a tool to gain Kevin’s trust and spring the “scare-’em straight” trap. (Though perhaps ‘straight’ wasn’t the right word.) In any case, this was a promise Mark quickly broke, in those endless evening hours in his locked office, trying to ignore that throbbing in his cock and balls that begged for release, holding out, but eventually giving in, playing the video, and jerking his long, fat meat to his own twinky fuckboi son’s candy bubble butt taking more dildo than he would have thought possible at a glance.

“Nyaaa… I your cock, BigDickDaddy,” Kevin had moaned in his female affectation, staring at the camera lens when all was said and done and his cheeks were flushed beneath his surgical mask. “I’m such a fucking _fag_ for your dick!” Well, that had been it. Despite bargaining with his horny side that he would simply look at the video out of curiosity, Mark had gritted his teeth and nearly glued his keyboard together with a huge load.

He DM’d NyaanCutie afterward, feeling sick to his stomach but also desperate to somehow fix the situation, saying he liked the video very much but he would pay more - _far more_ \- if he could interact in person. This was why he was currently naked in the bathroom of a suite at the Oakmont. In a travel bad he had a new shirt, a pair of leather pants (Mark had felt ridiculous ordering these, but at least they were rather roomy and not skin tight, a pair of handcuff keys, and a voice recorder and playback device. Next to the device, on a sheet of paper, he had references and timestamps for what phrases were where on the audio track. He could not let Kevin hear his voice - it would be a dead giveaway - nor could he chance using a voice modulator in person. Instead, he recorded himself saying things, altered the voice beyond recognition (to a low, distorted bass rumble like the Wizard of Oz if he gained about 2000 pounds) and intended to play them back.

His instructions to NyaanCutie had been clear: _Go to the corner penthouse suite at the Oakmont, which has been arranged just for you. There will be an eyemask. Strip except for your cat ears, striped socks and tail plug. Crawl onto the bed. Put on the eyemask. A restraint will be attached to each of the bedposts. Put your wrists into the restraints and roll them closed. Then wait. BigDickDaddy will arrive._

NyaanCutie was to have all of these tasks done by 4:00 PM. By Mark’s watch - which he slipped off and placed in his travel bag - it was 3:55. Time to get going. He put on the leather pants - the material felt heavy and thick, very much like his cock - and a pair of new black boots. Every piece of clothing had to be something new, or Kevin would recognize him. He threw a large hotel bathrobe over this, just for the trip down the hall, and then, finally, before entering the opposite suite where Kevin was presumably waiting (and looking both ways first) he donned the final piece of his disguise - a large bondage mask, also leather, with small mouth and eye holes.

He was no longer Mark Ottman. Now, he was _BigDickDaddy_. Mark felt a queer sort of excitement as he felt the solid clomp of his boots and the hot, heavy weight of the leather pants on his thighs, which his cock stewing, flopping and bulging against the seam where the legs met. The constricted view of the mask and the faint smell, which reminded him of his football helmet so many years ago, but darker, nastier - like the odor had taken on some of his intent.

He opened the door and made his way down the short entryway into the main room, then into the large, spacious bedroom. 

Kevin was exactly he’d requested. He was on all fours, wrists in handcuffs which were in turn attached to the bedposts. His back was arched and his bottom upthrust, showing off his most defining feature - a round, marshmallow-full teen ass of surpassing bounciness. The cheeks were parted slightly to allow for the emergence of a fuzzy cat tail, which was attached to a large butt plug. Below this, the smooth curve of his perineum, where the root of his small cock passed into his body, and two tight, hairless, blushing pink testicles. Starting from the mid-thigh, his legs were wrapped tightly in black and white thigh-high wool socks with horizontal stripes. On his head, he wore the sleep mask, a black cover with lace around the edges, rending him sightless. Above that, nestled in his feathered brown hair, was his patented NyaanCutie cat-ear barette. He appeared to be trembling.

So he really did it, Mark thought. Part of him had expected “NyaanCutie” to take his thousand-dollar money transfer and then simply disappear; meeting with older male strangers was, after all, a far cry from doing some camming and recording from the safe confines of a familiar bedroom. But the boy’s judgement was _that_ bad, it seemed. He’d walked himself right into a pair of restraints. If Mark had been some sort of violent sex predator, Kevin would be totally at his mercy.

 _You are a sex predator_ , his mind screamed at him. _You’re telling yourself you have to do this instead of just talking to him because you don’t want to admit the truth - that your cock is taking over. You used to jerk off once a day. Now it’s every few hours. You’re looking at porn constantly. You fuck Linda no matter how much you tell yourself she’s taking advantage of you. And you nutted all over your teenage daughter’s pussy when she came in asking for favors. Not to mention, your youngest daughter has gotten an eyeful of that big ol’ hog. She’s probably scarred for life._  
  
And this thought, above all others:

_You’re losing it, Mark. That old lady sure did a number on you. Maybe at the start she did it to you. But now you’re doing it to yourself._

“Is that you, daddy?” Kevin said from the bed, in his feminine voice. He wiggled his pale, round ass. Mark pushed his thoughts aside; he had a job to do and he was in too deep to stop now. He approached the bed, stood at the foot of it, and pressed the button to playback from the recorder.

“This is BigDickDaddy,” came the voice. The low, bass, distorted noise sounded nothing like him, and Mark was glad of that. “I see you obeyed my instructions.”

“Mmm, yes!” Kevin said with lip-biting optimism, and wiggled his bottom some more, ‘wagging’ his kitty tail. “You can do whatever you want to me!”

Mark moved the recorder to a different timestamp and played it. “First I’m going to ask you a few questions. How I act will depend on your answers.”

“Going to make sure I’m an obedient kitty?” Kevin said, teasingly.

CLICK. “Do you like older men?” CLICK. Mark played the audio device and snapped it off once the question was asked.

“Mmm, yesss!” Kevin mewled, and he wiggled his butt in an aching, needy way that gave the sentiment a ring of truth. Mark felt his cock jump inside his leather pants - it was very quickly beginning to rise, tenting the material outward. The fly was buttons, he reached down to undo these to lessen the feeling of restriction, all while watching Kevin’s butt go back and forth. “I looove older guys! They have money and they know what they want.” Kevin turned his head in the direction of the sound as he responded, and Mark saw that he was wearing glossy, dicksucker pale-pink lipstick that made his pert teenage boy mouth look like it could suck the chrome off of a trailer hitch. He had makeup on his cheeks as well, and Mark had no doubt that if he lifted the eyemask, Kevin’s eyes would be done up with smokey-eye mascara and the lashes teased out.

Mark pressed the recorder button again, stroking his cock absently. “Do you like big cocks?” the voice asked. He wasn’t going to do anything, but the sight of Kevin’s bubble butt squeezing that tail plug was enough to get his blood flowing. These days it took only the slightest stimulus, and he found himself quickly rising to full mast. 

Kevin responded instantly to the question, wiggling his bottom even more. “I looooove big cocks!” he moaned, biting his lip. “When you told me how big you were, my friends thought you were lying!” He arched his back even more. “Please - I can’t take all this teasing! I want to suck your cock so bad!”

Mark felt a burst of simultaneous arousal and anger. Kevin was so single-minded in his love for cock. It turned Mark on, which in turn made him upset at his own reaction. He had thought he would be able to resist, but Kevin was just such a _bitch_. Being gay was one thing. But being such an unrepentant, cock-chugging little twink… Mark heard the same tone in his son’s voice that he had come to despise in Linda’s. 

He decided to accelerate the plan. He fast forwarded to a later spot in the recording and hit Play. CLICK! “What would your father think if he saw you like this?” the voice asked. It was the beginning of the blackmail plan. The next several entries were the springing of the trap - the threat that BigDickDaddy knew that NyaanCutie was really Kevin Ottman, that he knew where he lived, and that he would show compromising photos to his parents if he ever dared sell his ass on the internet again.

But Kevin’s response to the question surprised him. “Who cares?” he said. “My dad is a total cuck. His cock is even smaller than mine!” he chirped, and then giggled. “I guess that’s where I got it from, huh?” He wiggled his butt, causing his small, flaccid penis to dangle and wave around slightly, and then his voice became conspiratorial. “You should thank him. It’s his fault I’m like this. His genes. In high school gym, I saw all the guys are like… twice my size. And it just… was so hot, thinking about how big they are compared to me.”

 _I could tell you a thing or two about having a big dick that you might not like, Kev_ , Mark thought, as his cock throbbed and twitched with his strokes. Pre-cum slid from his big, fat pisshole and spattered on the foot of the bed. _About how it changes you. Makes you do things you never would have considered._

“I need a daddy with a big cock!” Kevin meowed, wiggling his round butt again. Seeing an ass as shapely as his daughter Lucia’s (perhaps bigger and softer!) attached to his son made Mark do his own teeth clenching behind his bondage mask. His cock was already afire with the need to get off. Mark exhaled and fumbled with his recorder, walking to the head of the bed. Kevin heard his footsteps and struggled cutely against his restraints. From the front bedside, Mark could see how smooth, pale and hairless his torso was; and his pink  nipples were puffy and swollen like he’d been pinching and teasing them all afternoon.  
  
“Let me suck you!” Kevin begged, sounding plaintive. 

Mark hurriedly consulted his list of sound bites, looking for ones close to the end of his script. He had to close this deal, fast. It had been a bad idea from the start, and part of him had always known it. He had convinced himself that it was a maverick way to deal with the situation; that he was already in extraordinary circumstances with his cock growing out of control, that desperate times called for desperate measures. 

CLICK. “You could get in trouble selling your ass to old men,” the voice warned. “Some rapist could do whatever he wanted to you.”

Kevin bit his lower lip and moaned. “Oh, fuck yes!” he mewled. “Rape me with your fuckin’ fat twelve inch cock!” He wiggled his bottom some more. “Fill me with cum!”

Mark came very close to simply crying out in his normal voice _oh you little faggot bitch that isn’t the point I’m making here_ , cutting himself off only with difficulty.

Kevin stuck his tongue out, licking over the lip ring he’d so recently had installed, the same one that had raised Linda’s ire at breakfast. “Kitty needs a daddy to use her as a toilet,” he moaned, and then licked lewdly around his lips, making smacking noises. Mark felt a sick turning in his stomach. 

 _You were wrong about where you got it from_ , he thought. _I may have had a small penis, guilty as charged, but you’re wrong about the rest. The impulse you have to get on your knees and suck all of your friends cocks, I know where that came from. I see it in the bedroom every night these days. You’re just like your mother. She’s a fucking whore for cock and so are you. Linda the coddler. You always were a momma’s boy, Kev, and now you’re only proving it._

“My throat needs cooooooock!” Kevin whined, his feminine voice reaching a mosquito-like pitch, and before he knew what happened, Mark reached out and slapped the boy, right in the face. Kevin moaned as his head lolled from side to side.  
  
“Oh, god! Yes, slap the fuck out of me! I want you to fucking hit me, daddy!”

Mark reared back and slapped again, and again and again, knocking Kevin’s head from side to side with open-palm impacts. He had never raised his hand against the boy in sixteen years of parenting, and yet now he was so overcome with arousal and disgust, his arm seemed to fly on its own. His eyes seemed to super-keenly be able to pick out Linda’s features in Kevin’s makeup-painted face; the nose, the cheekbones, the lips, and that was all he saw.  
  
‘NyaanCutie’, now with reddening cheeks, moaned and drooled a thin line down to the sheets as he licked his swelling lips. “It feels so good!” he begged. “God, I’m such a fucking pig for cock, and getting hit!”

Mark growled and trundled onto the bed, standing on it at first, making the mattress tremble with his footfalls, before sitting his wide ass down between NyaanCutie’s outstretched arms and leaning back on the pillows. Mark’s cock jutted directly into the boy’s face and it was clear Kevin could sense it, he was moaning, extending his tongue to try to touch. The voice recorder lay on the bedside table, forgotten for the moment. 

“Oh, fuck… it smells so strong!” Kevin moaned, sniffing the air around Mark’s musky penis and balls. “Older guys are so amazing! I never want you to wash your cock, nyaa! Let kitty wash it! And I’ll suck your balls and lick your asshole, too!” He crawled forward and nuzzled his face into Mark’s big, hairy ballsack, mewling with pleasure as the loose, hot scrotal skin smeared sweat all over his mouth, continuing for a moment before pulling away with a gasp. “God! You really are _huge_!” And then a smile came over his face that was so filled with joy that Mark could scarcely recognize it. He had never seen Kevin so happy, not at Christmas, not on his birthday, not any occasion.

“Nyaa… I want you to be my daddy,” Kevin moaned, blowing hot breaths into Mark’s ballsack and trailing his tongue around one big, heavy nut. “Can you imagine if I really was your son? You could raise me as your personal fag to fuck whenever you want. Make me dress like a girl, and wear my hair long… right from the start, instead of breastfeeding, put my little mouth on your big cock and feed me lots of cum. As soon as I’m old enough you could start raping me… fuck my ass and throat whenever you want!” His face rubbed down she shaft and into Mark’s pubic area, bumping against his belly and the small pouch of hair-laden fat above his cockshaft. “Nnngh, I love your body!” the boy hissed, and then his tongue extended and he started licking Mark’s shaft. He already had several kinky pubic hairs stuck to his mouth.

_Shut up. Shut up. Shut up you fucking nasty little sissy faggot!_

Mark could take no more of Kevin’s teasing. He had no goal now except release for the demon burning inside him. He reached forward and clutched Kevin’s skull with two meaty hands, pulling it up to the apex of his rock-hard, jutting meat. Kevin immediately opened his mouth as wide as it would go, distending his pretty lips into a tight ring and making his jaw click, and Mark pulled down as hard as he could. In the state he was in, his mind was utterly clouded with the need for release; he felt no filial relation but only utter disgust. Kevin was no son, but a third daughter, or a second wife.

There was a “gluuuuuuark!” noise as Kevin’s throat was speared by Mark’s arm-thick pipe. He watched the boy’s tender Adam’s apple bulge and his neck distend and didn’t care. Spit didn’t just leak but sprayed from the seal his lips made, and also slid from his dainty nostrils.  
  
_You want to be a bitch? You want to be a bitch? I’ll fuck you like one,_ Mark’s mind roared. _I’ll fuck you like one! You want a daddy? Daddy is fucking here and bigger than you ever dreamed!_

Mark tried to keep his breathing quiet as he used his son’s skull as a sex-toy, but it was impossible. That tight, faggy teenage throat felt _too good_. Kevin gave better head than Linda, amazingly, no doubt a product of shoving toy after toy into his cocksucking mouth on cam. But even for a practiced cocksucker, Mark was just too much. Kevin was gagging pathetically, heaving, making horking, glottal noises and blowing big sluices of slimy throat gunk out his nose and mouth, plastering Mark’s pubis and balls. The boy’s mascara was running and tears were leaking out from under the eyemask and cutting black slits down his cheeks.

And Mark didn’t care. It felt too, too, too good. The part of him that took over when his decision-making faltered was now fully in control, perhaps moreso than any other time previous. He _needed_ to get off. If he didn’t empty his balls he would go crazy… and it was accompanied by an anger and disgust for Kevin that was irrational but unstoppable. The old Mark Ottman knew it was wrong, it was a _disgrace_ , it was criminal. But his lip-ringed, thigh-high wearing 16-year-old son was such a _bubble-butt twinky femmeboi piece of silky asspussy_!

“Rrrrnnnngh!” Mark growled, and it was the first sound he’d made himself since entering the room. His brutal, baseball-sized prick helmet drilled past Kevin’s tonsils and bulged his tight teen throat like someone had stuffed a fist down there. Kevin’s eyes crossed and rolled back, but Mark didn’t let go. He thrust his hips up as hard as he could and pulled Kevin down as hard as his arms would allow, until every inch of his meat was buried in the boy’s body and Kevin was gagging and gurgling waterfalls of syrupy, foamy throat-goo all over his big balls and leather pants.

There was a washing machine sloshing sound as he skull-fucked ‘NyaanCutie’, who was getting the most thorough throat-reaming of ‘her’ storied cocksucking career. Nothing Kevin had encountered would have prepared him for Mark’s animalistic brutality, and he didn’t cum quickly, either, tearing apart the boy’s oral cavity for ten minutes, then fifteen, making him pass out. After that, NyaanCutie gurgled brainlessly and vomited a spray of hot, foamy fluid all over Mark’s dick. Mark continued to skull-fuck, making his prey puke every few minutes until the bed was sodden with slime and huge strands of spew were connecting chin to balls.

At twenty minutes, Kevin was totally limp and there was a crack as one brutal thrust rammed his face so hard into Mark’s pubis that his slender, boyish nose broke. He barely reacted, but Mark lifted his head and then pushed it off his cock in disgust. Kevin was drooling, his nose slightly flattened and trailing a rivulet of thin blood from one nostril. As soon as his mouth was free he gasped for air with brainless, desperate gulps, his tongue out, making snorting, gasping pig noises via his deviated septum. The mask was not askew on his face, but Mark imagined what his eyes looked like - unfocused or rolled back to the whites.

Mark had not cum yet. He stood up, his slime-loaded cock bouncing and shedding droplets of lube, and stepped around behind Kevin. The boy’s cock was rock hard and pressed up against his thin, smooth pubis, proving that he was getting off on the rough treatment.

 _Here you go you fucking ass-licking little faggot_ , Mark thought. It was him, but not him. His cock was in the driver’s seat. _I was going to teach you a different lesson, but maybe this is the lesson you really need._

Kevin’s knees were wobbly as he stayed in the doggy position. Mark grabbed the tail plug and pulled it out with only the barest hesitation to let the boy’s ass expand around the bulging end, watching as his creamy, pink, moist hole sucked on that toy, expanding and contracting and trying to grip it. He was tight enough that it closed immediately behind it, leaving a pink, hairless boipussy winking between those round bubble-butt cheeks. Mark tossed the tail aside and straddled Kevin, pointing his dick downward. There was no shortage of lube on it.

“Nnnnnngh… yesshhh!” Kevin slurred, through his oxygen-deprived stupor and broken nose. “Yessssssshhhhhh! Kitty... loves... daddy!”

Mark pressed his cock-knob against Kevin’s asshole. It looked bigger than ever - as if it had grown even since that morning. He pressed downward and at first it did nothing but press the boy’s anus down along with it - it was too big. But when he reached below, bending over slightly and grabbing Kevin’s hips, feeling the warm softness of them, realizing what a killer ass he had, the way those buttocks seemed to melt between his fingers as he groped. Taking a firm grip, he pulled up and forced himself downward again… and felt himself sliding inside tightness and heat he’d never experienced before.

“Uwaaauuughghguwu!” Kevin warbled, and his hands rotated and spasmed in his restraints. There was a meaty sliding sound from his body as Mark’s massive, arm-thick cock began to burrow into bowels. 

“Rnnnngh!” Mark growled, and shoved again. He was making more noise - in violation of his original plan - but he couldn’t help it. “Fucking… faggot!” The words just came out of him, before he realized the danger, but if Kevin recognized his tone he didn’t say anything. Mark sounded alien even to himself in the moment, less like a family man and more like a porn star in the midst of a fuck scene, his voice breathy and hoarse and unrecognizable. As he grunted he shoved more of himself inside and down, and felt his cockhead move against a bump inside.

Kevin cried out again and his cock spewed a hot, unbroken stream of perfectly clear seminal fluid onto the mattress underneath him. Mark had battered against his prostate and milked a sissy orgasm out, so strong it seemed like he was pissing his clear, sissy boi-syrup all over the mattress. Though his cock was only halfway inside, ‘BigDickDaddy’ was giving ‘NyaanCutie’ a prostate battering ass-fuck, all while gripping his hips and occasionally spanking his round ass.

Mark felt that protrusion inside, that G-spot, and made it his mission to totally wreck it. He angled his cock right into it and began to plunge into Kevin with merciless strokes, making him wail, cum helplessly, smashing his sissy cum-nub flat, cracking it like a walnut, driving the boy down into the bed over the course of another fifteen brutal minutes. 

Mark barely noticed or cared what he was doing. It felt so good. It was a better, more relieving fuck than any Linda had given. He pulled his cock out to admire his handiwork and saw that his son’s asspipe was still fairly elastic, sticking to his cock like a pair of sucking lips and forming a volcano caldera shape before finally popping off the end. He pressed back inside and aimed his cock to the left, tearing up Kevin’s shitpipe because of the odd angle, and then aimed to the right, repeated the act. Then he let all his weight fall on the boy - slamming him down to the mattress… and buried every inch of his massive fuck-scimitar into his moist, sucking anus. 

Kevin made a helpless choking, gurgling noise into the mattress. Mark could feel those round boi-butt cheeks, the part of Kevin that rose highest when he laid face-down, pressing into his pubis. His cock was sheathed in warmth and lubed up, fleshy tightness. Mark reached around under the boy and slid his hand up Kevin’s midsection; he could actually feel the bulge of his prong as it rearranged Kevin’s intestines.

He did not know how long he fucked him for, with nearly all his inches inside. He had entered the room at 4:00, and when Mark looked up, covered in sweat and grunting another fat load out of his shaft and into Kevin’s asshole, it was nearly 6:30. The sight of those numbers in red digital starkness was the first thing in hours to bring him out of his sexual rampage. He looked down past his still-hard cock and saw that Kevin was not moving. His asshole was gaping open and semen was sliding out to cover his perineum and balls. How many loads had he fired up the boy’s ass? Six? Seven? Every orgasm had seemed endless and every ejaculation larger than any he’d had before. He had _heard_ his fat, chunky ball loads spewing out of the tip of his cock and blasting his son’s bowels.

Kevin didn’t appear to be awake, or responding.

 _Fuck_ , Mark thought. 

He reached down to haul the boy up to a doggy position, and found his weight totally limp. There was a small pool of blood from his nose that had smeared on his face. And the semen leaking from his ass was threaded with blood as well.

He checked Kevin’s face and found his mouth foaming. And though it was a risk… he lifted the eyemask and found Kevin's eyes rolled back and flicking rapidly.

“Fuck!” Mark said, out loud this time. What had he done? The last two hours were a blur… he remembered Kevin having orgasm after orgasm, then growing less and less responsive… and his demon cock, always wanting more, refusing to go down, returning time and time against to fuck that amazing, round, bubble ass.

But now it seemed-

“No,” he whispered. Kevin’s lips appeared to be turning blue.  
  
_What am I going to do? I have a 16-year-old prostitute in my motel room. By the way, he’s my son. By the way, I just raped him into a coma._

And then a part of him, a weary part, speaking for the old Mark Ottman, increasingly a passenger on his strange journey, thought:

_Good. Good. This will finally get you off the street and into a jail, where you belong. You’re a danger to your family. You know it. You’ve changed. Your judgment is bad and getting worse. But there’s one good thing you can do before you go away. One last thing you can do if you still have a soul and care about anything besides getting your cock off._

Mark Ottman decided he did still have some of his soul left. Hesitating no further, he picked up the phone and called the paramedics.

 

* * *

 

Mark and Linda sat hip to hip on a bench outside Kevin’s hospital room, not looking at each other. Mark was wearing his largest pair of slacks, and had a velise over his crotch to make sure his size wasn’t too obvious. It was late, the sterile hallway totally quiet except for their breathing and the beep of monitoring equipment in the patient rooms.

“I never imagined… Kevin would be… involved in something like that,” Linda said, looking straight ahead.

“I know,” said Mark.

“You found out,” she replied. Her face was hard to read. “You found out just in time.”

“I was going to tell you right away. But then I saw those Twitter messages and I knew I didn't have time to-”

“You were right,” Linda nodded. “Whoever was in that room left him for dead. If you hadn’t showed up-”

“Don’t think about that, Lin,” Mark said.

Linda paused and the silence passed between them.

“I spoke to the… attending physician,” she said. “Kevin’s nose and black eyes… it could have been from… rough oral sex.” She paused. “Oral rape.”

Mark said nothing. 

“And the endoscope showed abrasions in his throat nearly all the way to his stomach,” Linda went on. Mark felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. For the first time she looked at him, still speaking slowly and deliberately. “Something… something large was inserted nearly all the way down his throat.”

“We shouldn’t dwell on… on what happened,” Mark managed.

“Did you know his prostate was so badly damaged… he may never be able to get an erection again? Or produce semen?” she went on, her voice raising, looking at Mark intently. “Our son… our only male child… ass-fucked so hard that he can only dribble a few drops of infertile piss out of his little dick-”

Mark burst to a standing position. “Linda, what’s wrong with you!?” he said.

“It’s a good thing you arrived when you did, Mark,” Linda said, icily. She was barely raising her voice but her words were cutting through the air like razors. “That you _happened_ to arrive to save our son after he was assaulted by a pervert!”

Mark was speechless. He simply stared at Linda, mouth open. 

“She said she expected to hear from the police about the _multiple_ suspects,” Linda went on, eyes blazing at Mark. “He had _so much cum pumped up his ass_ , she’s certain it was _ten guys_ who raped him!” She stood up to go nose to nose with him. “But it’s a good thing _you_ showed up, Mark.” Now her voice was dripping with utter contempt. “You’re a real hero, aren’t you?”

Amazingly, her hand went to his cock and tweaked it, finding it half-hard. Her lurid descriptions of Kevin’s ordeal had gotten his juices flowing. He took a deep breath. “What,” he asked, “do you want, Linda? What do you want me to say?”

She ran a hand up his chest and grabbed the lapel of his shirt. Her other hand stayed on his cockshaft, gripping it through his pants. “You know what I want,” she said. “And unless you want to talk more about … certain things I suspect… you’re going to make sure I get it.”


	11. 16”

It took Mark quite a while to find the old Haitian woman.

In the aftermath of his encounter with Kevin he realized that it was all falling apart. He had real physical compulsions he couldn’t seem to ignore, and they were overriding all morality and common sense. In his moments of clarity he knew he had already crossed a line - his relationship with his family would never be the same. The question was, would he give up and simply let the disintegration continue? It was scary to think about. The entropy of his life was leading him to jail, ostracization from everyone, maybe eventual suicide. Three months ago he never would have considered such a grim final act… but now, for the first time, he wondered if the best thing for his family wasn’t just to remove himself from the equation.

But then-

But then.

That old bitch would win. The old Haitian woman, Peterson Jean-Baptiste’s great-great-auntie or whatever, who had accosted him on the courthouse steps, would have the last laugh over Mark Ottman, reading the headline “Suicide of local financier troubles colleagues” or something similar in the newspapers that only people her age seemed to read anymore. What was she? 80? 90? She looked 100. And Mark had realized he really knew almost nothing about her. If he intended a reckoning, finding out more would have to be his first step.

He engaged Ted Krieg to hire an investigator. Krieg, who said he had spent time as a divorce lawyer (and Mark had smiled bitterly at that revelation), had had private investigators in pocket in order to investigate the assets and dirty deeds of philandering partners, and he still maintained some of those contacts. Adding one to the payroll was no problem - old uncle Teddy was happy to keep Mark at arm’s length and spend his money. After the dick-measuring incident at the house, his “friendly face, ‘hey mind if I grab your wife’s ass?’” phase was done.    
  
Mark was frustrated by how little he could give Ted’s man. He had no name, no date of birth. He suspected she was related to Peterson Jean-Baptiste, but didn’t know it for sure. He thought back through their conversations and vaguely remembered her referring to a ‘grandson’ but couldn’t recall exactly. He told the investigator that she was Haitian, very old, and smelled like cigarettes, and unsettling to be around. 

Occasionally he would drive around to the various memorial sites set up for the dead boy and see if the old bitch was standing around, but never saw her. Instead he frequently saw a young woman, perhaps the same age as his daughter, Lucia - black-haired, gorgeously dark-complexioned, with large hoop earrings and a tight figure tucked into leg-hugging tights and fur-lined jacket. One time the wind carried her name to him as a conversation occurred - Rozalin. Each time he saw her, he was struck by her exotic beauty in such a way that he lingered too long and almost got noticed by the Haitian males who surrounded her, males laying remembrances and refreshing flowers, holding candles, as they had promised to do as long as the criminal case was in the court of appeals. (Ted Krieg had told him the appeal was almost certain to be thrown out, but that barely concerned Mark anymore. He sometimes wondered if the best place for him - and the best thing for his family - was if he  _ was _ put in jail.)

The hardon in his pants, bulging all the way down his pants leg to just above his kneecap, quickly became enormous on these occasions. It was still growing, and the exotic differences between Rozalin and Lucia - the fuller lips, the thicker hips - made a thirst awaken in him that he was having increasing difficulty holding down. The feeling both sickened and excited him. He was a man who was rapidly moving toward having nothing to lose. And if he had nothing to lose, and access to a private investigator… wouldn’t it feel good to make his last act one of revenge?

He chastised himself. No. Not yet. He wouldn’t do such a thing unless it was absolutely necessary. He had to talk to the old woman first.

Two weeks after he’d engaged the investigator, the call came in from a competent voice who identified himself as Mr. Kelly, Ted Krieg’s hired gumshoe. The old woman, he said, had been found.

“What have you got for me?” Mark asked. He was in his private office at home, and scrambled to open Notepad to take down whatever information was coming. The office was as private a place as he still had - and he’d taken precautions to change the lock and retain the only key.

“Her name is Nephtala Merline Jean-Baptiste,” Kelly said. “Peterson Jean-Baptiste was her great,  _ great _ grandson.”

“No fucking way,” Mark rasped. “So she’s-”

“Nephtala is 106 years old,” Kelly went on. “I checked the birth records myself. She was a little girl during World War I, for god’s sake. This broad has seen some shit, Ottman, that’s for sure.”

“So where is she?” Mark went on. “I need to contact her. But because of the situation with the family, you know-”

“Right. She’s in hospital. Lung cancer. Has visitors most days but quiet in the evenings. From what I gathered in snooping around, she’s probably not getting out of there. Not a lot of treatment options, and she’d refuse them anyway. She’s going out, Ottman. So if you wanted to see her, now’s the time.”

Mark fell silent. He didn’t know what to say. Dying? The thought caused swirling emotions. Part of him said  _ good, fuck that bitch, I hope her lungs rot out _ . But another part of him knew that her death would close a certain door forever. The curse wasn’t part of her, he knew that with uncanny instinct. The curse was something she had laid on him… and something only she could take off.

“How long?” Mark said, his throat catching. “How long do they say she has.”

“From what I could overhear, no more than a month. Maybe as little as a week. Once she starts going it’s going to be quick.”

Mark closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “You do a lot of work for Ted Krieg?” he asked.

“Is that relevant?”

“I need to get in there. Late, with no family around. I’ll need some credentials.”

“What are you asking?”

“You know what I’m asking,” Mark went on. 

“Yeah but I don’t know you,” Kelly replied, sounding cautious.

“But you do know what I do, right?” Mark went on, feeling something like excitement. He had never tried anything like this before… an under-the-table request with an implied reward, and felt both cool and absurd, the world’s most desperate secret agent. Before Kelly had called he hadn’t really considered what he would do next - but this plan came to mind quickly and seemed to make sense.

“You’re in the money business,” Kelly said.

“So how would you like to be in the money business too?” Mark went on, sounding ridiculous even to his own ears, like every line of dialogue from any movie where money had changed hands for dirt. “I just need an I.D. and maybe some hospital clothes.”

He could feel Kelly’s apprehension so he spoke again with a number he thought would seal the deal. “Twenty thousand in an untraceable discretionary account.”

Kelly waited a moment longer, and then he did speak. It turned out the number Mark had quoted was good enough.

 

* * *

 

When he entered the room in his lab coat, blue collared shirt and beige slacks, the only sound was the rhythmic hiss oxygen being pumped into a mask. He was Dr. Ethan Lane, a ‘consulting specialist’ from out of town, with his identification and access badge pinned directly to his lapel. Kelly had cooked up the consulting part as a story that Mark could give if anyone didn’t recognize him. Ethan Lane, double-specialty in pulmonology and oncology. The perfect man to see an old lady about lung cancer, even if he was more likely to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze than prescribe anything.

There was a nurse’s station he had to pass, which he had done without incident. The family had all gone home and the room was semi-dark; it was 11:30 PM. Mark had cleared himself of all other responsibilities so he wouldn’t be disturned. Lucia was off on her long-awaited “out of town concert trip”, for which she had so aggressively bargained. Kevin, though recovered, had withdrawn and was spending a lot of time in his room. Mark had thrown a good fuck into Linda after dinner; which these days was enough to keep her from nagging him. She had dug her nails into his shoulders and told him that it was _ even bigger than before, she wanted every inch, she wanted him to mash her cunt to a pulp _ ! He had felt nothing emotionally, but his body had responded; the part of him that was at issue, the part of him that the old lady had brought front and center to dominate his life,  _ that _ part was hungry as ever. And in the end, when they were cumming together, Linda had whispered in his ear viciously, saying  _ she knew what Lucia did to get his approval for the trip, she knew and she was glad, and it turned her on to think of Mark turning her bratty 17-year-old blonde daughter into a fucking whore for huge cock _ . The idea that these nasty fantasies were fiction for sex purposes was still preserved, but only barely.

Work was off his back too. He had gone to Kirk Bennett and told them he was having some issues at home and needed to take leave and delegate most of his accounts. Kirk seemed almost relieved, smiling as he told Mark to take all the time he needed and that he was a valued member of the firm, had made them a lot of money over the years, and they would be eagerly awaiting his return. His face said what his words didn’t:  _ I know your home life is totally fucked, old body. Running over a kid in the street with your wife in the car would put a strain on any relationship. Then she had to stand by you while you got called every name in the book by the media. Better take some time and get your shit together. _

Mark went to hand over his accounts to that smug asshole Bryce Carstairs and discovered that Bryce already had the relevant information and was emailing investors about the switchover. Kirk had planned to move Mark off the accounts anyway, leave or no leave, that much was clear. His work was suffering, he was spending way too much time out of office, he was leaving percentage points on the table by not following the market. Even if it was justified, it hurt Mark to see something he worked so hard on get stripped away so callously.

Now, it was just him and the old woman.

She lay in a sparse bed, an IV in her emaciated arm, the injection site surrounded by bruises where nurses had tried to find a vein and failed. Her chest rose and fell imperceptibly. In her prone state she looked positively ancient - like a mummy who had just been unsealed in a long forgotten sarcophagus. The anti-septic smell of the room mixed with the scent of age. 

Mark stood for five minutes, pondering what to do. He had a strange urge to just smother her with a pillow and dismissed it at once. That was his rage talking - his resentment for what she had done to him and his family over what had, really, been an accident. Sure, his lawyer had used a few underhanded tactics to get him off the criminal charge, but it had not meant to kill Peterson Jean-Baptiste, no matter this old crone might think of him. And it was while he was contemplating this fundamental truth that she opened her eyes and they rolled toward him.

Mark hissed out a surprised breath.

“You,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied, not knowing what else to say. “Me.”

“You here’t kill me,” she croaked, and her voice was like disintegrating paper. “I know dat woul’ come. But you kill me if you wan’. I got my justice.”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Mark said, his voice quiet under the oxygen flow, the air conditioning, and the occasional beep of monitoring equipment. A sign on the oxygen canister read OXYGEN IN USE, ABSOLUTELY NO OPEN FLAME ON PREMISES. “God knows, I should, for what you’ve done.”

The old woman croaked a harsh laugh and reached up slowly to remove the mask from her face and set it on her chest. “You run ‘dat boy down like a dog in ‘da street,” she said, her cataract eyes meeting his. “Den you say he a criminal.”

“Nothing can change that,” Mark said. “I know you don’t care, but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill him, I didn’t ask the lawyer to do that.”

She laughed again, then coughed twice. “So everytin’ not your fault huh? Well, you don’t take responsibility, big fat white man. So I  _ make _ you. I make you take responsibl’ty n’ I make you pay.”

“I want you to take it off me,” Mark said, his voice thick. He leaved closer to he would whisper more intently, their faces only a foot and a half apart. “Take it off me. Maybe you’re mad at me… but my wife, my children… they don’t deserve this. You know this isn’t fair.”

For a moment, the old woman paused… but then she smiled with such blackness that it honestly frightened Mark. “Your children. My boy, he in the ground. He dust. And his legacy - pweh!” She made a motion with her hand, like casting away a handful of salt. “You drag it troo t’mud.”

“My family-”

“ _ Fuck _ your family,” she blazed, almost rising up from the bed. “And fuck you, white man.” She gained a mischievous smile. “My curse, it works good, huh? You have a daughter? Maybe two? You show ‘dem sum’ting? Maybe you have a little girl… but you can’t help yourself. You can’t help yourself. You gotta do it because she there and she so ripe. A white man like you did it to me when I was younger ‘den dat and he didn’t have no permission. So now you do it to her. And I’m gonna be laughing. Laughing while she learn what you teach her.” 

Mark’s heart sank. Any hope had for sympathy from the old bitch was gone - it was obvious that her heart was stone cold blackness. She had probably seen her brothers, father, sisters beaten and jailed and persecuted many times over the years, god only knew what they had done to the Haitian immigrants in the 20’s and 30’s when she’d been growing up. She’d seen property burned, unfair laws enacted, people injured and maybe killed. Any sympathy she had was gone long before Peterson John-Baptiste had his unfortunate meeting with Mark Ottman’s Ferrari in 2019.

He had only one card left to play, a card that he still believed was not in his nature. “Fine,” he growled, leaning over her aged face. His eyes blazed into hers as he spoke in a furious whisper. “Fine, fuck me and fuck my family if you want. But you gave me this and before I go, before everything crashes down for good, I’m gonna use it.” He was glad, but also dismayed, that the words rose to his mouth so easily, coming from a newly-formed instinct, fresh these last months, that he would never have suspected he had. From his lab coat, he produced a photo taken by Kelly at his request, showing a familiar Haitian teenage girl in a stylish mini jacket, a girl not far off from his own daughter in age and with a gorgeous brown-skinned body that would have been right at home in an Atlanta strip club. 

Rozalin. The old woman’s eyes crystallized with recognition at once as he held it close to her face; her cataracts were not enough to stop her from seeing the candid photo (Rozalin walking out of a bodega, kinky hair wilk, looking down at her phone) or its import. 

“I’m going to find her,” Mark went on, “and before all is said and done, I’m going to take her somewhere and rape her. I’m going to rape her for hours and hours. It will not be quick, I will take my time.” His words felt unreal to his own mind, the words of a villain, feeling alien as they passed his lips. “If you know so much, you know what I’ve done. You know if it continues, I’m going away for a very long time.” He exhaled. “I have nothing to lose, and that was your mistake.”

“You don’t touch her,” the woman said, her voice papery and her expression grave. “You never touch her.”

“I will,” Mark said. “And I think you know it, too. I think you know what this little curse of yours does to people. And you know what else?” His eyes gleamed. “I think you know how much she’s going to like it by the end.  Because it does that too, doesn’t it? She’s going to be begging for my big fucking dick when I’m fucking carving up her spicy little  _ black cunt _ !”

The woman’s hand moved feebly for the nurse call button, Mark intercepted it and held it in place, staring intently. It was like grabbing old beef jerky. Her skin had the texture of peeling wallpaper. “Take it off,” he said again. “Take it off of me!” His heart was beating. His phone, set to silence, vibrated in his lab coat pocket. He ignored it. All that mattered was the old woman. Her eyes dug daggers into him, her breathing was growing faster and she was exhaling angrily out her nose.

“Fine,” she said, after five seconds of locking furious eyes with Mark. “If it were up to me, I never take it off. Never ever. But you worse than I thought, white man. You sneak around and take photographs. You threaten to rape children. And you so bad and crazy I think you gonna do it. So I take it off.”

Mark was so momentarily happy he stammered his next words out quickly. “How?” he asked. “Can you take it off right now?”

She shook her head slowly against her pillow. “No. Come back tomorrow. Tomorrow I show you how, after by boys bring some ‘tings from my place.” She sighed. “ _ Gris gris _ ‘tings. But you know it never go away, white man. It was born of hate. And someone gonna catch that hate sooner or later.”

Mark considered, then shook his head. “You’re trying to lure me back,” he said. “You’ll have a dozen guys waiting for me. Hospital security or some of your Haitian boys.”

She shook her head in turn. “Dis between you and me,” she said. “And even if you  _ was _ right, you got no choice.”

“If I come back tomorrow and you’re lying, I’ll get her anyway, somehow. Even if I’m in jail I’ll pay some guys to do it,” Mark warned. His voice sounded unbelievably sickening to his own ears once again, and the women put her gas mask on and turned away from him, as if his statement was expected and he had expected no better. Mark felt an unbelievable sense of shame in that moment, and stepped away from the bed, using his lab coat to hide the near-unhideable bulge in his slacks as she moved back out past the nurse’s station. While he was doing so, he checked his phone. There was a message from Linda - a series of them, in fact. One was a full paragraph long.

“Jesus fuck, what now?” he grunted, stepping into an elevator. A pretty nurse got on with him. Mark read the message, avoiding eye contact, very aware of the animal musk of his own massive penis and knowing she could probably smell it too.

 

* * *

 

When Mark arrived at his house (via uber), there was a police cruiser in his driveway. Normally this would have really alarmed him, considering all he had done, but Linda had filled him in on the way home. Lucia had attended a pre and post-concert party, it seemed, the party had been raided, and she and Marissa had been picked up when it had been shut down by the cops, and detained for underage drinking. 

Mark balled up his lab coat and used it as a shield to obscure his penis, then stepped up the driveway to find Linda thanking the officer while Lucia and Marissa were leaned against the car… though in Marissa’s case, ‘slumped’ against the car would have been the better term. Both girls had bloodshot eyes and were obviously completely inebriated. Marissa’s mouth was ringed with the remnants of a burst of vomit, and the evidence of that regurgitation was splattered on the edge of the footpath.    
  
“Oh, shit,” Lucia slurred, trying in vain to stand up straight. Her outfit was as daring as he’d ever seen her - a high skirt, a halter top, a pair of heeled boots, one of which had a heel that was broken. Golden hoop earrings hung nearly to her shoulder and matched a wristband and choker that really brought out the graceful length of her young neck. She really did have a fashion model figure, and with slightly heavier mascara around the eyes and a bit of muss in the blonde hair around her face she looked like a strung-out runway queen who had taken the business too fast and was burning out. It was a very adult beauty, even if the long, Marsha Brady hair (Mark had once asked Lucia if she knew who Marsha Brady was and she had no idea in the most “Okay, boomer” way possible) was as teen as could be.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mark asked.

“Officer Clegg here drove nearly an hour to take the girls back to us instead of keeping them a night in the lockup,” Linda explained. She was in a housecoat and a lacy nightdress, and her arms were crossed with motherly disapproval. “We should thank him.”

Officer Clegg nodded at Mark. “I’m releasing your daughter into your custody, sir; but her friend’s folks are unreachable so I was wondering if you could take responsibility for her as well. I know sometimes kids from good families wander up to the city and get caught up in things. So when I heard she was from this neck of the woods my sergeant had me take a ride.”

“Thank you,” Mark said. “Yes, we’ll put her up for the night. We know her parents.” He paused, then added: “I really appreciate you doing this.”

“If you’ve got friends in municipal government, just remember us when the police are negotiating our pay bump,” said Clegg, offering his hand for Mark to shake. Mark took it, feeling numb. He kept glancing over at Marissa, who was falling over levels of drunk, her red hair was wild and strung out and splattered with foamy white vomit on the insides of the bangs, her dress was whipping in the breeze and pressing against her thin, perfect 17-year-old body, a body probably fueled by a healthy eating disorder, waifish in the arms, waist, legs, torso, but still featuring that round, tight teen girl butt and a pair of perfect tits that seemed to ignore gravity. 

Linda and Mark watched Officer Clegg go on his way while they escorted the girls into the house. Lucia nearly fell over, putting a hand on her mother for support, Marissa couldn’t even walk and Mark had to physically carry her. Her body was light and amazingly warm. It brought back memories of high school, when he had played football and lifted the occasional cheerleader as a joke or part of a throw - they had that same youthful lightness that Linda, for all her MILF-style charms, couldn’t hope to match. Linda went maybe 135 - feeling Marissa, he had to believe she was barely 100 pounds… and his daughter Lucia was probably much the same.

He struggled with the best way to carry her and eventually just put his arms under her thighs, had her drape her arms around his neck and carried her in like a sleeping toddler. Her wispy dress rode up her legs momentarily as he lifted and the breeze blew, exposing her - she was wearing nothing but a barely-there thong. Lucia at least had actual panties on, Mark noted - though they were lacy, black, and not exactly modest in their own right.

“Get in here,” Linda was growling under her breath, whispering to Lucia. “Get in here and account for yourself.”

They entered the foyer. Mark sat Marissa down in a chair next to the coat rack and she immediately slumped over to the side, groaning. Lucia was letting out the slurring, whining mewl of someone who had been asleep for two hours and was being awakened against her will. “Mooooom, leave me alooooone…”

“You explain yourself, right now!” Linda said, and with the front door closed, her voice was rising. Mark heard real anger in her tone. “Alcohol? Drugs? How much did you drink? What did you do?” She paused, then held up a finger. “You lied to me,” she said. “You downplayed this whole thing and you roped your father in on it, to get your way.”

Lucia grimaced and turned away. “Leave me alone, geez!” she slurred, almost burping out the words as she hiccuped. Her breath was heavy with booze, and Mark could detect the skunky scent of marijuana as well. Lucia was trying to step out of her white retro go-go boots and couldn’t quite manage it, stumbling slightly with each attempt.

Linda gripped Lucia’s wrist firmly. Lucia tried to pull away. Mark could see things were about to get out of control, and he felt utterly paralyzed. With what had happened between him and Lucia in his office, he had ceded any right he had to be a proper parent of old, filled with righteous indignation. He was not drinking or doing drugs, as Lucia had been, but he had spent the last months indulging an addiction even more overpowering. More frighteningly, he felt Linda’s anger toward Lucia in an elemental way that was scary. The thought of his daughter out there at a party, flaunting her body, doing shots, smoking weed, probably taking pills, getting pawed at by guys… it made him feel a sort of territorial rage. Lucia had been his daughter, and soon she would be out in the world and in the arms of a stranger - this whole thing had been about her wanting to take wing.

“You listen to me!” Linda hissed, and Lucia tried to pull her arm away. “You live under my roof, and-”

“Fuck you!” she seethed back, and Linda’s eyes went wide with anger. She slapped Lucia in the face, and Lucia cried out and tried to clumsily strike back as they struggled. Hair began to fly. Mark, freed from his paralysis, separated to the two women by virtue of being much larger. But there was no way to stop the venom, which had been building a long time.

“You ungrateful little bitch!” Linda seethed, and for the first time, Mark saw a blackness in her eyes that was more than just parental anger. Linda was, in addition to being righteously upset at Lucia teenager-style manipulations and lying, upset at something else. And that new brand of upsetness revealed itself very quickly. “You think your father is going to bail you out of this one, because you-”

“Linda,” Mark warned. He glanced over at Marissa, who was passed out in the chair. His eyes almost practically begged Lucia to say ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ and defuse the situation completely, to take a step back. But teenage girls are not exactly known for such things, and instead she fanned the flames by shooting Linda the most smug, knowing look in the history of the world. Lucia managed to say more in one look, one smirk, than Mark could have detailed in ten minutes of sordid confessions.

_ Yes _ , her face said.  _ Yes, I cockteased the shit out of dad. You were probably never this beautiful, mom - I can get away with whatever I want because I’m seventeen and my tits are perfect, my hair is long and blond and my skin is like silk. You are *old*. You’re in your late 30’s and you’re starting to sag. I look and feel so good and so fresh he couldn’t resist because he’s tired of you. Why do you think he bought that car and ran over that Haitian boy in the first place? Because he wanted to feel young. Well, I let him *feel* something young. I let him pump some jizz out all over my shaved pussy, and he’ll be thinking about me every time he’s slopping around in your soggy gash. _

“You bitch,” Linda repeated. “I thought I raised you better than that but you’re just a little whore!”

Lucia went on to push more buttons, this time by laughing and all but ignoring Linda, as if her own mother was of no concern at all. She lilted her head with boozy unsteadiness and addressed Mark instead. “I’m sooo drunk, daddy,” she said, affecting a daddy’s-little-girl voice. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

Mark knew Linda was going to try to wrap her hands around Lucia’s throat and braced himself to keep them apart. The struggle was quick, and he raised his voice to defuse it while holding his body between them. “Lucia, shut up!” he ordered. “Calm down, Linda. Lucia, you and Marissa sleep in your room. Drink some water. You need to hydrate. We’ll check in on her during the night, make sure she’s okay.” He turned his head to Linda. “Can you get a pitcher of water, please? I’ll take them up to the room.”

Linda, furious, didn’t move for a moment. Mark raised his voice again, trying to sound authoritative. “Linda, get a pitcher of water, fucking  _ please _ !” he repeated, and she clenched her teeth before snapping off a turn worthy of an army cadet and walking toward the kitchen. 

As soon as she was out of sight, Mark let Lucia lean against his shoulder as she finally removed her boots, revealing cute, petite feet with a toe ring on one pinky. With his opposite arm he gathered Marissa, still passed out. “Can you walk by yourself?” he asked Lucia. “I have to carry her.” 

“Sure, daddy,” Lucia said, and began to move slowly up the stairs, holding the bannister. Mark followed, his hands tucked under Marissa’s thighs. He had carried his daughters this way when they were much younger, holding them to his chest as they slept and needed to be moved, but this was different. His hands couldn’t help but feel the warmth of her thighs, warmth that seemed to be radiating out from her young pussy. He wondered if she was shaved. It seemed very likely. His cock was growing very hard, very quickly, in spite of the tense situation, or perhaps because of that ancient, decades-ago sense of promise, that feeling at a house party when teenage girls were drunk and adventurous and liable to do anything,  _ try _ anything, just to get back at their parents.

Feeling Marissa’s warm, perfumed dead weight in his hands, his nose filled with scent red hair, he couldn’t help but think of Linda and her assertion, when getting him hard and ready to fuck, that she would like to see him fucking Lucia’s friends. 

_ Why are you thinking of that _ , he asked himself.  _ Stop it. Just fucking stop it _ .

But he couldn’t stop watching Lucia’s ass bounce on the riser above him, or feel Marissa’s thighs in his hands. With each step up the stairs, Mark could almost see the laughing face of the old woman, cackling from her bed. _You going to show your daughter a lil sumting? You going to teach her, white man?_  
  
 _Tomorrow_ , Mark thought. _Please. Please, I just need to last until then.  
_  
The night stretched out ahead with dark possibility.


	12. 16" (Part 2)

Mark had never taken any heavy drugs in his life. He had smoked some weed in high school, and consumed more than his share of liquor (a tried and true part of both finance and high school football), but he’d never even  _ met _ anyone who had a serious drug problem, let alone encountered those difficulties himself.

Nonetheless, as he lay in bed next to Linda, staring at the ceiling, completely unable to fall asleep, he believed he knew how those addicts he saw on the crime procedural TV shows must feel when they decided to dance with the devil one more time, in spite of the destruction such a habit promised. He could feel his half-hard dick laying bloated between his thighs, ticking like a time bomb, interested not in heroin but an indulgence even more forbidden. 

Like those poor addicts, he knew the right course of action. He, Mark Ottman, 42 years old and ostensibly the responsible adult and head of a household, should go to sleep and think nothing more of the two drunk, borderline passed-out teenage girls sleeping off their partying in Lucia’s room. Yet, against his will, his thoughts wandered to that day Lucia had come into his office, bikini-clad and smelling like pool and suntan oil and forbidden teenage flesh, and sat on his lap. The details were burned into his memory. She was light as a feather, he remembered that - certainly no more than a hundred pounds, effortlessly thin in the way that all teenagers seem to be able to achieve when they’re young and strong and carefree, before the weight of the world arrived to drag them down. He remembered how he could see the outline of her hip bones above her bikini bottom, bones long-ago submerged on the body of Lucia’s mother, Linda. The same with the xylophonic hint of ribs on each side of her torso.

There really was nothing like the body of a popular, 17-year-old high school girl - a truth that existed in him as a sort of sexual nostalgia. Like a vintage of wine that would turn to vinegar if not consumed in time, his daughter was at her absolute physical peak. The graceful thighs and calves and ankles, the tiny feet, the slender wrists, that long crop of wheat-colored Marsha Brady hair. That effortless tan. The way the only scant fat she had seemed to gravitate to her breasts and buttocks, making them bouncy and bountiful when all else was trim. 

Still, even these sordid fantasies were things that Mark assumed all adult males had to cope with sometimes.  _ He _ also had Linda to contend with. Linda, who, in her desire to get fucked by the huge and heavy cock he now possessed, had conjured his erections by sinking to depths of forbidden fantasy night after night. Fantasies about how she wanted to see him fucking teenage girls, describing how she would tie them up for his use as he wished and keep any secrets between them, describing their tightness and their squirming around his monster cock as painful penetrative agonies turned instantly to eye-rolling lust. Indeed, Linda had often described to him a fantasy that started exactly in the state he now found himself - awake and with two barely-conscious teen girls just two rooms down the hall.

He had grown to hate her for her participation in his downfall. And he had no doubt she hated him as well. The dumb, cock-struck lust he saw in her eyes, so amoral and wrong and nasty, reflected the urges he had come to hate about himself. They were linked together by a sort of tragic fate; she would do anything for the orgasms that he pulled from her body, and he, in spite of his moral objections, would let her go as far as she wished to get them. 

Now, Mark found himself in a familiar place. He knew that he would soon feel a hand on his wrist and a voice in his ear. He and Linda had fucked almost every night since his penis had started to grow, and if he said no or was hesitant, she had become adept at getting him hard. Sometimes he found himself calling her a whore, slapping her big, matronly tits and buttocks, growling out his frustration, but in the end he always gave in. And she in turn would tell him that he was  _ full of shit _ , he had no business being angry, that her talk about teenage girls and lewd scenarios had him  _ hard as a rock _ . They would growl and thrust their bodies together and hatefuck themselves to sleep; Linda would call out in lust for his cock, praising the size and virility, begging him for his load… but no longer using his name.

It was not him, but his cock, that she wanted.

Just as expected, it came. He felt a hand on his thigh and shut his eyes. “No,” he was able to muster. “Not tonight, Linda… please.” 

The hand proceeded over his thigh to grasp the thick shaft curled up beyond. It grasped him, hefted him, seeming to test him. “It’s still growing,” Linda said, turning to her side, speaking into his cheek. “It’s… bigger.”

They lay in silence for a few seconds. “I thought you’d already be hard,” she said, with a hint of disapproval that angered Mark a little. They were no longer able to communicate without fraying their respective nerves.

“Why?” Mark spat, in a sotto voce whisper that seemed to fit the dark. “After the crazy day I’ve had… fuck, Linda, you don’t even know.”

“You know why,” she said, evenly. And then his cock did jump, and she took in a shallow breath. “Ah,” she said. “There it is. I knew it.”

“Shut up, Linda,” Mark said. “Just leave it alone.” But she was stroking him and his body was responding, not from the physical sensation but from what her words were hinting at… and his own imaginings of what was waiting two rooms over.

“You don’t like me anymore, do you?” Linda said, and her voice had taken on the sultry, nasty tone that it always did when she tried to get him hard. She was in her silk negligee and panties, her hair framing her face; a beautiful, thick woman and eminently fuckable. But she was right. In that moment, her pleasure - her approval -  was far from his mind. And from the tone of her voice, she knew it. “You bastard. You nasty  _ fucker _ . I know what you  _ do _ like.”

“Don’t act innocent,” Mark growled, reaching down to grab Linda’s wrist, halting her handjob. “I told you to go to sleep and forget it, Linda. Sure, I have a hardon. I’ll go jerk off in the toilet.” But that was a lie, and they both knew it. When he got really hard, really horny… he was never able to satisfy himself with anything but the release of a brutal fuck. Not for the last two months.

“I know what you want to do,” Linda whispered, and squirmed up closer to him on the mattress. “I know what you want to do to them.”

“Linda-”

“They’re out, Mark. Out like a light. And that little redheaded friend of Lucia’s, she’s blackout drunk. She won’t even remember.” She nibbled on Mark’s earlobe. “God, can you imagine what your huge fucking cock would do to her-”

“You make me sick!” Mark hissed, but he was absolutely rock hard, in an instant, and she didn’t sicken him any more than his own hypocrisy. 

“I want to see it,” Linda teased him, and now their eye contact was smoldering. “I want to see you rape that little slut. And Lucia… god, Mark - she needs to learn some respect. Just imagining what you would do to her-”

_ This is the moment of truth, Mark thought. Just grab Linda and turn her over and fuck her brains out. Like every other time she’s talked this way. It stays as a fantasy that way. Prove you’re still worth a damn, and this… this *curse* doesn’t have a total hold on you. Fuck her brains out, imagine all the nasty shit you want, make her say it, if it pleases you. But it has to stop here. You escaped being caught with what you did to Kevin, and that was a fucking miracle. If you do this, you’re going to prison. _

He willed himself. He begged himself. He imagined himself clutching Linda’s shoulders, turning her, mounting her, shoving his cock into her no-doubt-wet pussy and giving her a brutal fucking. It would have closed the issue. No lines crossed, no sleeping, vulnerable, asking-for-it teen girls.

_ Asking for it? Did you just think ‘asking for it’ _ ?

He had. He thought of Lucia and Marissa, that wild redhead, sloppy drunk, high, cockteasing the popular boys at school, maybe slipping into a closet or a vacant bedroom or just around the corner to make out, get their pert teenage tits groped and their pussies fingered. He knew from experience that Lucia’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree at the idea of a guy who was equipped. That little slut. And now, those two girls were in his house, passed out, legs probably splayed. Those little bitches. Those fucking-

“Christ,” Mark grunted, and Linda was back to stroking him. “Those two, Linda… they-”

“I always hated that Marissa, she’s such a bad influence,” Linda hissed. “She looks like a little  _ cocksucker _ . And now Lucia… being disobedient… showing no respect. You could do whatever you wanted to them, Mark. You could. If you fuck me. I know just being in the room with them would keep you hard for hours.”

“They’d wake up,” Mark said, looking for a way out. He could feel his cock driving his thoughts and it disgusted him. “In that length of time, they’d wake up.” 

Linda shook her head and continued her agonizing stroke-job beneath the silk covers. His cock was so long that it took quite a length of time for her hand to travel from base to tip, and she pleasured him with long, smooth caresses as she spoke. “No,” she said. “They won’t. I put a little something in their water, you see? From Dr. Naymond’s office, across the hall.”

“What?!” Mark gasped. Dr. Naymond was a dentist who had a practice in the rooms across the hall from the gynecologist's office at which Linda served assistant. “You mean-”

Linda nodded. “They won’t wake up easily. And if they do stir, with the drugs and alcohol and what I gave them, they won’t remember. In fact, I was just about to check on them. To make sure they don’t asphyxiate.” She grinned nastily. “On anything but your cock, that is.”

Mark’s cock twitched and banged on his belly. He looked at Linda, astonished, not knowing what to say at first. This was too far. She was giving him an out. An opportunity to put his foot down. “No,” he croaked, his voice thick. He was alarmed at how much he didn’t  _ want _ to object. “That… to do that to those girls, how can you even suggest-”

Her eyes narrowed and even in the dimness he could tell she was furious. “How can I suggest?! Every time I go to bed you won’t even look at me anymore unless I suggest it. Every night, you push me away unless I start talking about girls. You’re the one to blame here. You think just because you made a bunch of money you’re still entitled to any woman you want?” She pulled her hand away from his cock and smacked it on the mattress, her voice agitated.

Mark found himself filled with rage as well. He was the one going through hell, with this alien thing growing on his body, driving him to indulgences and thoughts he would have never believed possible. And where had his wife two decades been? On all fours in bed, like a whore, begging for it! Showing interest in him for the first time only after he’d grown an extra foot of dick!

“Shut up, Linda. Just shut up about it,” he spat. His voice was as hard as his prick. “You tell me I should deal with a mid-life crisis so easily, meanwhile, what have you done? You’re fucking me like you haven’t done since we started dating all of a sudden. What, is that just a coincidence? You like what I’m doing to you and you know exactly what you’re doing to get it out of me. All those nights I rolled over and turned away from you-”

“You bastard,” she interrupted. But he overrode her.

“All those nights, you could have just accepted it, compensated. The same way I bought a sports car instead of hiring some eighteen-year-old prostitute to feel young again. But no, you can’t accept it. So now you’re in my ear about fucking kids who are just in high-school every night, and when it fucks up this family you act like you had nothing to do with it-”

“Oh fuck you, Mark,” Linda seethed, rising from the bed. Her thick thighs and large breasts seemed to jiggle and bounce as she did so, and in that moment he wanted her utterly, not as a conquest of love but of hate. He wanted to fuck and break her and reduce her to orgasmic screams and moans and rolling eyes because then he wouldn’t have to listen to her, or what she might say. She opened the door out to the hall and stood in the frame, the silhouette drawing out her hair and her figure. When she turned her head back to him he saw there were tears in her eyes - but her face wasn’t sad. It was furious.

“You bastard,” she seethed. “ _ You _ did this to us. If you hadn’t run over that boy… you bastard, you think I care? You think I have sympathy for you, with what you’ve done? I’ll fucking sign papers on you  _ tomorrow _ .”

“I really don’t care, Linda,” Mark hissed, rising from the bed himself. His naked body loomed like an ogre in the semi-darkness. His hard-cock jutted out in a sabre curve. “I don’t. Take the house and the kids, tell yourself you had no part in this. Tell yourself it was all my fault. Tell yourself you didn’t want it. But we both know what you did and what you’re doing right now. If you don’t want it then fucking walk away." 

They looked at each other silently in the semi-darkness. She took a step toward him again, and her hand reached out and tightened on his penis, causing another spurt of that constantly-dripping semen to pour over her wrist. It was thick, off-white with a yellow tinge, strong-scented.  “ _ You _ walk away,” she challenged him. “If you don’t want it then  _ you _ walk away. There’s more than one way to ask for something, Mark. And you’ve been asking for it since day one. You didn’t need me to bring you to the precipice, either - you did it yourself.” She pulled closer to him, making eye contact, caressing his thick, fat cock with a hand that could not completely encircle it. “I won’t stop you, Mark. Whatever you want to do. But I want your  _ cock _ . I want to  _ fuck _ . And if you won’t give me that, then I have no reason to ignore what I’ve seen and what I know.”

The threat loomed in the air. After a moment, Mark spoke. “And if I don’t walk away?”

Linda dropped her eyes. “Then I’ll… help you do what you need. To get hard and fuck me.”

Their faces were inches away, but they no longer recognized each other. He disgusted her as much as his cock enchanted her, that much he could tell. And the feeling was mutual.  

_ I’m going to pull away from her _ , Mark thought. _ I’m going to pull away from her and put on my pants and go sleep downstairs, then I’m going to gather my shit and move out of the house, and stay away from her and my kids until I settle this thing with that old Haitian bitch. I’ll stay in a hotel, out of town. Another city. No contact. I won’t even tell them where I’m going. It’s too late to fix things, too late to take back what happened with Kevin or even Lucia. But Katie… Katie could still be okay.  _

But then he thought of Lucia laying there in her bed with her panties hugging her hips and her blonde hair splayed on the mattress and her body perfect and alluring and unspoilt. Stirring as his shadow fell over her. Her painted lips moving, forming the words  _ I’m so glad it’s you, daddy. You’re so big. I want you to fuck my tiny teen pussy. I want you to stir me up.  _ His head fell, he dropped his eyes as well, and looked down and to the side. He wasn’t strong enough. That feeling in his cock, that need… it was overpowering, that addict’s need that seemed to blot out all else.

“You do everything I say,” he breathed. “ _ Everything _ . And I’ll fuck you how you want.”

She nodded gently, then led him by his massive, leaking cock into the room his daughter had slept in since she was four years old. 

They were going to hell, together. Their last act as husband and wife.

 

* * *

 

As Linda walked into the girls’ room, Mark was an ogrish silhouette in the door, a black outline with powerful thighs, a barrel belly, wide shoulders, and a huge hose of cock hanging down between his knees. Marissa was laying next to Lucia’s bed, on a camping bedroll that had been found in the closet. Face down, head turned, arms stick-straight at her sides. Her red hair, freshly colored for the party, shone brightly even in the semi-darkness. She was out of her dress clothes and wearing just her bra and thong; her teenage buttocks were on full, lewd display. 

It was Linda who must have posed her that way, and that thought - that Linda had exposed Marissa’s tight little ass - made Mark tingle with excitement. The swell of those perfectly-shaped hemispheres made his cock twitch - but not to much as the sensation that he was seeing something absolutely forbidden - a high school girls stripped down and absolutely vulnerable in a private moment.

Lucia was in her sleep clothes as well; a pink bra and a pair of tiny pink shorts with hearts on the waistband. She, at least, had had the wherewithal to change on her own, though those faculties were no longer present after Linda’s drugging. She still had her makeup on, her long, straight blonde-hair exploded in a starburst on the coverlet underneath her head. She was laying on one hip, above the covers, turned toward Marissa on the floor.

Mark felt Linda’s hand on his cock. She was standing next to him, milking him as he stood in the doorway, and he was reaching full hardness quickly. “They’re yours, Mark,” Linda said. She squeezed tightly around the underside of his shaft and gave it a slow, drawing headward stroke. There was a noise as thick droplets of semen pattered to the hardwood floor. He was so aroused that he was leaking copiously. Her words were dark and enchanting. Nothing was forbidden. Everything was permitted. 

Mark found himself almost in a trance as Linda led him into the room by his jutting, enormous cock - certainly larger in this heightened state than it had ever been, sixteen inches at the least, and thick as his wife’s arm. Linda held his organ in a horizontal curve out over Marissa’s tight young ass as they both looked down on her. “That little bitch,” Linda said, her voice naughty. “A bad influence on our daughter. Sex, drugs, and who knows what else. That’s why Lucia shows me so little respect. She thinks we’re old and stupid and not worth listening to.” She began to stroke him, and Mark was jolted out of his passivity.

“Turn her over,” he ordered. Linda knelt down, buttocks clapping as she did so, and put her hands under the girl, pulling her sideways and then pushing her over on the bedroll. Marissa did not respond or make the smallest sound. He gave another order: “Take off her bra,” and again Linda obeyed. She removed Marissa’s bra and the teen’s impossibly perfect tits fell out; Mark went to his knees, straddling her with Linda at his side, and reached down to touch them. Each one filled up his hand perfectly, a soft, perfectly-shaped sphere of flesh that was hot. His palms were sweating as he ran his thumbs around Marissa’s nipples in circles. His cock hovered and bobbed just inches from her skin, the head nearly reaching her chin.

“She’s probably fucked so many guys,” Mark said, his voice low, and Linda’s eyes gleamed as she nodded.

“Yes, Mark. She’s just a little whore. But she’s never had a cock like yours.”

“She’s such a piece of shit.” The words came out of his mouth with dismissive ease. He thought of Marissa, always so quick to eye-roll or gossip, floating around that party with a drink in one hand, using the other to rub the crotches of any guy who would look at her, letting groups of fuzzy-chinned high school boys lift her skirt and grope her ass, showing off her thong, promising sex in her body language and flirtatious voice at every interaction.  _ Barely seventeen years old.  _ He lifted her limp body and brought her breasts to his mouth, sucking first the nipples and then taking as much of the flesh in his mouth as he could, making sluglike noises as he licked over them. Had she gasped with pleasure at his touch? Was it just his imagination?

He lowered his arms and let her fall back to the thin bedroll with a light  _ thunk _ . “Fucking whore,” he breathed. “She deserves to get raped, the way she acts.” He felt one of Linda’s hands on his cheek and one moving on his cock with increased speed and urgency as he spoke. His wife turned his head toward her and kissed him with a passion that he hadn’t experienced in some time.

“I want to see you rape her,” Linda moaned, and her tongue slid into his mouth and probed him, as if his brutal statements had intrigued her and turned her on. “I want to hold her legs apart for you while you destroy her little teenage cunt.”

“Oh, fuck, Linda-” Mark moaned, and he leaned forward and grabbed Marissa’s unmoving body by the head, tilting it up until her painted lips mashed against the end of his cock. He was leaking semen constantly, and rubbed the discharge from his pisshole all over her face in degrading fashion, smearing her lips, chin, cheeks, and forehead until they were shining.

“Make her eat your semen, Mark,” Linda said. “A girl like her should be eating nothing but your cum.” She caressed one of his big, hanging nuts and milked up his shaft, and Mark let out a shuddering breath as he held Marissa by a fistful of hair and squeezed a long, chunky rope of semen out, directly down the middle of her face. She did not react, eyes shut, lips parted the tiniest bit, as the fat, greasy line of spew squeezed out over her forehead, down over her nose, getting caught in one garish false eyelash, then down to her mouth. Even in the dim light Mark could see how thick his cum had gotten and how it had the off-colored, nasty tint… he could smell it in the steamy air of the bedroom, warmed by the body heat of four human beings. He milked himself down to her lips and the sperm fell from his pisshole as he reached her mouth, pooling against the barely-visible grate of her front teeth, between those parted lips. Her teeth were dazzling white and perfect; Marissa was a spoiled rich girl and had the best dental work. Mark shook his cock a little, biting his lip to avoid cumming right then and there and absolutely plastering her face. A pubic hair that had been caught in his foreskin was stuck in the cum as well, laying against her teeth in black line.

“Fucking whore,” he grunted.

Linda moaned and held up a hand which had been rubbing against her pussy. The fingers were slick and bridges of lube connected the digits. “Fuck, I’m so wet. Watching you do that to her-”

“You like seeing her eat my cum?” Mark breathed.

“God, yes.”

Mark turned his body, squatting directly over Marissa’s face, letting his big balls hang against her mouth, his scrotum pouring over her. He looked titanic, his hairy belly and heavy thighs making her seem pixie like by comparison. Now looking down toward the teenage girl’s bare feet, he had a view of the way her thong underwear had come askew, showing the side of her pussy mound. “Take those off,” he prompted Linda, and she immediately obeyed, still eyeing his cock hungrily. It was impossibly hard, so hard he could feel it throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and her hunger for it was obvious.

Linda pulled Marissa’s panties down the girl’s gapped, toned thighs, revealing a well-kept pussy with a hint of thin hair and a light playboy bunny shape from a tanning salon sticker. It was precisely as Mark had always imagined it in his tawdry fantasies - Marissa was a girl in love with the look of her own cunt. His thoughts along these lines were more overt now, more vulgar, and without restraint - in the heat of the moment they felt scarily at home in his head.

“Look at that little pussy,” Linda teased him, poking Marissa’s puffy mons gently, then pushing the whole mount left and right before spreading it with two fingers, revealing an opening that Mark could see, even from his vantage, was impossibly pink.

“Put your fingers inside,” Mark prompted. “Tell me how it feels.” And Linda obeyed instantly, digitally penetrating Marissa and biting her lip. This time, the girl did moan - a slow, slurry sound - and Mark could feel her breath against his heavy, sweaty balls as he laid them on her face.

“It’s so warm and tight, Mark,” Linda said, looking at him with dark, forbidden encouragement. “It would be so tight around your  _ huge _ cock. God, the things you could do to her-”

“I will,” Mark breathed, jerking himself off as he felt his balls rubbing on Marissa’s face. He thought of all the ‘OK, Boomer’ expressions he’d seen Marissa give in her visits to the house, all the giggling conversations he’d overheard between her and Lucia about that went on like people his age didn’t even exist. Now the little bitch was getting a faceful of his fat nuts, stripped naked, being abused and used however he wanted - and there was nothing to stop it. Not the constable arm of the law or the disapproval of his wife, nor his own cock-strangled inhibitions, moral objections that had been steamrolled by the compulsions of his new and improved libido.

“Sit on her face,” he gasped to Linda. “Make her eat your pussy while I fuck her.” They moved quickly and deliberately, Linda obeying his every command, stealing glances at his cock as often as she could. She over Marissa’s cum-streaked, sweat-glitzed face and lowered her hot pussy onto it. Mark put first one wide knee between her bronzed, narrow thighs and then the other, the bulk of his body forcing her legs open. He reached down, gripped her legs (so light!) under each knee and lifted them up to make room. His cock lay across her pussy like a log, reaching all the way up to her belly-button and slightly past, leaking more thick, unclean semen. And he could feel the  _ heat  _ coming off her pussy, like a lamp near his heavy, churning balls.

He passed Marissa’s legs over to Linda, who took them by the ankles… and then held them up and apart. “This is all I want to do for you, Mark,” she whispered. “I want to hold their legs apart for you so you can rape as many as you want. I’ll drug them too… as many of Lucia’s friends as you like. I’ll drug them and you can fuck up their tight little cunts until you’re ready to fuck me. Use these whores to get you hard, then fuck me. We can do it every month. Or every week. Or every night, as long as you fuck me.” She was licking her lips with lust and mashing her pussy onto Marissa’s face. Occasionally the girl would moan or make a muffled breathing noise, but Linda paid her no attention.

Mark looked down at the forbidden fruit - the gentle, perfect crescent of Marissa’s teen pussy. He had never cared much about such aesthetics - he had been fine with Linda keeping herself in whatever way felt comfortable - but the velvety appearance of a high-school girl’s slick slit was on another level entirely. The hair was thin, downy, as if it had been waxed and was just beginning to come back in. It barely needed to be trimmed and didn’t have the rough, angular look one might find on a stripper. He rubbed the underside of his dick against her mound and found it breathtakingly soft. He could feel slickness and moisture under the fat tube of his urethra as he slid in her furrow, and then adjusted his knees backward so he could poise the mammoth tip of his cock against her entrance. With two thumbs he spread her; the opening was vibrant, bubblegum pink and he could smell fresh, wanton arousal and sex; as if Marissa had been creaming for hard dick the entire time she’d been out drinking. Experimentally he slid a finger inside and nearly gasped at the sensation of sinking his digit into what felt like a dish of warm cherry pie. His other thumb found her clit and her rubbed it, rotating methodically, drawing another moan from Marissa into Linda’s cunt, this time a little more obviously a response of either discomfort or pleasure.

His eyes moved up to meet Linda’s, asking the unspoken question -  _ is she going to wake up?  _ Linda smiled at him viciously. “She won’t wake up until morning… and if she wakes up covered in cum and with her pussy hurting - she’ll just think she was raped at the party. She won’t remember a thing.” Her smile became even darker and her hand went to her nipple, tweaking it as she rubbed her pussy into Marissa’s face. “Can you just imagine her face, waking up and knowing she was violated? I bet she wouldn’t act like such a little cunt after that.” She licked her lips. “I want you to fucking rape her, Mark.”

“Yeah?” He rubbed his leaking cock-knob on the entrance to Marissa’s pussy. “You like that? You’re such a fucking nasty bitch, Linda.”

“Yes,” Linda seethed. “I want to see her walking around our house like a ghost, quiet and respectful and  _ knowing _ she was raped.”

“Damaged goods,” Mark confirmed, his breath picking up. “Just a stupid whore.” Her pressed his cocktip against Marissa’s slit, the lips began to part, then stretch a little to accommodate the brutal prick-helmet battering at her gates. Her entire crotch seemed to fold inward slightly at first, but he kept up the gentle, increasing pressure using his thighs. “That turns you on, doesn’t it, Linda? You want this cock fucking hard, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, I do!” Linda moaned, grinding on Marissa’s face. “It fucking makes me so wet to watch you  _ rape _ young girls Mark. To know I’m married to an alpha who takes what he wants. I’m going to cum, just watching you tear apart her cunt! I want to look at her and be able to say ‘my husband fucking raped you with his huge cock’. I want to see this little whore at the fucking abortion clinic!”

“Fuck, Linda you fucking  _ pig _ !” Mark gasped, and he understood in that moment that to her, Marissa and everything else were just props, tools to entice him to fuck her harder and longer than he ever had before. He had to admit, her words were so nasty and fucked up they were just as alluring as the forbidden flesh beneath him. Her last volley of dirty talk pushed him to the edge, he increased the pressure and surged forward, groaning out with lust and release, and a meaty, penetrative sound filled the room as his shaft burrowed into the tightness of Marissa’s vagina.

The girl did respond as his first six inches entered her, her back arching, her muscles tensing. It seemed as if her body attempted to turn but could not; with Linda holding her legs at the ankles, splayed in midair like a pair of goal posts. Yet she didn’t seem aware, her movements were instinctive and random rather than coordinated. The sound she made with her mouth was longer and louder this time, but the sound only spurred him on. He pressed further forward and saw something amazing, below the girl’s bejeweled belly-button there was actually a bulge beneath the tanned skin that was visible; her young, slender body made it stand out all the more.

“Oh my god, look at it bulging!” Linda moaned, seeing the same thing. “You’re  _ destroying _ her little pussy!” 

Mark found the thought so delicious he wanted to see how far he could go. He thrust in further, drawing more noises from the girl. He took a hard grip on her hips, marveling at how she was so petite compared to him, he could rub his thumbs and feel her hip bones or up and down the visible ribs on the sides of her body - Marissa, like his daughter Lucia - was a good 25-30 pounds lighter than his wife, even if they were roughly the same height. The feeling of her pussy was totally different, too. He had come to love Linda’s wet, inviting pussy as being very accomodating, able to take nearly every inch. When he penetrated her he could feel the bumps and texture of her passage. Marissa was different. She was  _ so _ tight. There was an unbelievable amount of pressure on his cock from all sides… pressure that he could feel alleviating by tiny degrees as he stretched her out and drove himself further in!

“Fuuuuck!” Mark hissed. He seemed to have reached his limit; with ten inches of extremely thick cock inside Marissa and six still outside, the bulge in her belly was up to her navel and he could go no further without seriously injuring the girl. The obstruction of her cervix was tight and hard, and he could push past it slightly if he angled up or down… but not very far. God, the heat of her insides! Unable to stop himself, he began to thrust - churning her up, stirring her, making her his. Marissa made sounds in time with his humping - long, mournful grunts that seemed to straddle the line between pleasure and pain. Still, her legs, arms, and body were totally limp.

Linda watched him like a hawk. “Don’t you cum, Mark,” she warned. “Fuck her as long as you can last - but then you need to take care of me.” Her eyes stared at the penetration going on in front of her, then moved back to Mark’s face, looking for signs he was going over the edge.

“Uaagh. Unngh! Unngh. Uaaagh!” Mark heard himself grunting, not strictly because of exertion but because it was so  _ tight _ . Marissa’s shapely legs waving back and forth like windblown palms despite Linda pulling on them. “Yeah, you like that don’t you, you little whore!” His raspy voice came to his own ears as an outsider. Until the old woman had touched him outside the courthouse, he had never had an interest in verbalizing such things. Now, in a dark place in his mind, he felt like every female was just  _ asking _ for it. Her body was shaking with his abbreviated thrusts, he could still see the heavy, vein-squiggled tree trunk of meat, close to his base, that was still outside of her, unable to fit in. When he drew back, her insides were tight enough to cling to him, shining bubblegum pink in a membrane around his squelching, churning, fucking length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he rasped, and Linda must have sensed that he was getting close, for she reached out and pawed at his upper arm.

“Fuck me, Mark,” she begged, her face as needy as he had ever seen it. “Fuck me with that big fucking dick!”

“Get on top of her,” he growled, and Linda moved, supporting herself on all fours directly above Marissa, getting her big, round, thick ass in position for a doggystyle pounding. He could see her inner thighs were absolutely soaked, her back was arched, she was presenting himself like an animal for him. He pulled his cock out of Marissa, aimed it up about twenty degrees, and then brought up his hips to match, moving to the balls of his feet instead of kneeling. He slid into Linda’s sopping slit like a red-hot knife into the softest butter. She was  _ dripping _ and ready for him. Whatever she truly thought of his actions, her body was still responding to him and what he had done. There was a wet, nasty sound - slrrrrch! - and he nearly bottomed out in her. She cried out louder than Marissa had, bracing her palms on the floor, collapsing forward so her large, heavy breasts mashed against the teenager’s pert, gravity-defying ones. Mark took a tight grip on Linda’s hips knowing they would feel different and welcoming an opportunity to go all out and not hold back. He sawed into her with his curved fuckmeat and a sluice of lube squirted down and all over Marissa’s fucked, dripping pussy.

Mark saw the mess he had made of the girl - he could discern no blood in the dim room, but he had been leaking inside her the entire time he had fucked her, and the flower of her quim was still stretched open by his size, leaking whitish-yellow wads of cum down. The sounds his cock was making inside Linda were lewder than ever - wet, churning, sloshing noises of searing membranes being abraded by hot, sweaty dick! Her bumpy, loose, cum-hungry pussy was sucking his dick like a whore, and he felt no mercy for her as he took his tightest grip on her body and slammed in to the balls, making her ass-cheeks bounce and compress against his belly -  _ whap whap whap whap whap whap whap _ \- and picking up speed.

She was wailing and cumming from the very first moment as his demon prick coaxed fuck-quake after fuck-quake out of her loins. She moaned and babbled, sometimes audible and sometimes just gasping, tell him that he was a stud, that she would do anything to get fucked by his monster dick. She began to enumerate her future participation, told him that Marissa was just the first, that she would drug as many high-school aged sluts as he wanted and guide his fat cock into their little pussies until they were torn open. And if they weren’t seventeen years old but fifteen, or fourteen, that was fine, she would watch and finger herself while he tore them apart; she would hold their unconscious heads up and make them suck on his prick.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit, Linda,” Mark growled, pounding into her cunt without a care. “A fucking nasty whore who would do anything for cock! You like that? Girls barely in high-school, sucking my dick? You can keep me a little harem, Linda. Make sure they’re ready for me, to kneel in front of me and suck my dick and my balls, and lick my asshole when I get home from work!”

“I’ll do it!” Linda cried. “Little blonde girls, on their knees, sucking your big balls! I’ll teach them how to do it and punish them if they don’t! Just… never… stop… fucking me!” She was growing louder, cumming repeatedly, and Mark felt a sort of vitality rushing through him that was scary. He was not totally under the control of his endowment, the part of them that had felt such guilt and worry was in a cage, deep in his psyche. He dimly knew yet another line was being crossed, one of the last - despite Linda’s promises of a debauched lifestyle and a harem of high-school girls who were barely past puberty, he knew this was a sort of last hurrah. He could not continue this - it would kill once and for all the part of him that was still himself.

This thought, echoing dimply in that jailed, relegated part of his old self, made him glance over to the bed, and to Lucia. Lucia, his beautiful, blonde, perfect seventeen-year-old daughter. The light was dim but he knew very well what he was seeing. She was still sleeping on her hip, with her body turned toward them… but her eyes were open. He could see the light-blue color, could see the eyelashes upturned as she took in every detail of what he was doing. His eyes went to the nightstand by the bed, where a water glass was empty, and he understood - Linda had checked the level of the glass to make sure Lucia had imbibed, but in the dimness had missed an important detail - there was a stain on the books and Christmas cards that were piled next to it. Lucia had spilled the water - maybe some of it, maybe all. And perhaps because of that, she was awake - drunk and awake.

What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. Lucia mouthed a word to Mark -  _ “Daddy…” _ and her right hand slid down her smooth, tanned midriff, over those bare hints of abdominal definition, and into the waistband of her tight pink sleep shorts, venturing further until her entire hand was inside them and doing what young girls so often have done in secret in their beds. She licked her lips and watched, her eyes focusing on him, his cock, and what he was doing. And then, seconds later, that hand emerged from her shorts and her saw a glistening between the fingers - like a strand of spiderweb breaking - and saw her digits were slick with her own fluids. She brought two of these fingers to her mouth… and started to suck them. Never breaking eye contact. She mouthed the same word again:  _ “Daddy.” _

“Oh… ff-f-f-uuuuuuuuuuuck!” Mark groaned, reaching his climax inside Linda. Certainly she could expect no more from him, he had been pounding her brutally for minutes on end and she had been orgasming seemingly nonstop. He pulled out as he felt his balls tighten and semen rocketing up his shaft so powerfully it stung. The first thing that presented itself was Linda’s pair of round, jiggling ass-cheeks and that was what he fired at, pumping out thick ropes of sperm

He looked at Lucia as he did it, saw her eyes going wide, her cute lip-biting expression showing how impressed she was - she had never seen or even conceived of such a huge load; the one he had squirted into her panties in his office had been nothing but the clap before the real fireworks. 

_ If your cum is that thick, daddy _ , her face seemed to say,  _ I’m going to need a big load of it in my panties each day so I can wear them tight against my little pussy and feel you all the time _ . He fired five, six, seven shots onto Linda’s ass until it was caked and plastered, then shoved her forward, exposing Marissa’s pussy, and dropped to his knees, jerking himself, milking himself out all over her seventeen-year-old mound, glazing her with thick, nasty dollops of his seed. He busted not just on her pussy but on her flat, smooth belly as well, and then he shuffled forward, making Linda roll off to the side, and pumped out some shots over her tits as well. “Nnnnngghgh!” he hissed. The sperm was coming slower now but it was still coming, he knee-walked forward until his cock was right in the red-haired girl’s face and gripped his base, milking all the way down and defiling her with a coiling, yellowish-white worm of thick wad, one that exploded all over her eyes, nose, and mouth, glueing her nostrils shut until they were bubbling with her breaths. 

Linda was moaning slowly, hoarsely, nearly comatose from all her orgasms. Marissa was a cum-splattered ruin. Mark, kneebound and with his balls sweat-slathering Marissa’s chest (and leaving behind a steady number of long pubic hairs) looked over at Lucia again. She had opened her legs and was masturbating more openly. Her bra was down, exposing her absolutely perfect breasts. She fingered herself more fervidly and nibbled her lip some more, her blue eyes lustful. She beckoned him, not with her voice or her eyes or the silent pantomime of her mouth but with everything. Every bit of her being seemed to scream:

_ Come here, daddy. Your daughter needs what you’ve got. _

_ It’s an illusion! She doesn’t know what she’s doing and neither do you! _

It was the final scream that Mark Ottman’s old self would utter that night. But compared to the compulsion of his sixteen inches of arm-thick, conquering meat… it was nothing. An echo in a long-forgotten place, no longer familiar. Only Lucia mattered. He rose and looked at her, his cock still iron-hard and jutting out from his ogrish, adult body in an intimidating scimitar curve.

“Daddy,” she moaned, nibbling her lower lip. She slid her legs to the side of the bed and rose to a lounging, leaning-back position, separating her knees. Then, eyes full of lustful tears, she said something that Mark Ottman would remember for the rest of his life. 

“I want… all of you, daddy,” Lucia said. “And…  _ I don’t care if it hurts _ .”


End file.
